1942
by Trusted Trouble
Summary: Anything. He'd do anything. Replay his summer with the Dursleys. Do detention with Snape for a year. Heck, even be kidnapped by Voldemort. Anything not to be stuck in September 1942 with Tom Riddle.
1. Chapter 1

**Blanket disclaimer for the whole story: To put it simply, I don't own Harry Potter, that wonderful right belongs to JK Rowling.**

To say it had been a long day would be an understatement.

A huge one.

It had all started when the Charm's Professor had quit her post; quite unexpectedly he might add. She had only survived a week of teaching and then, gone. No note, no letter, no nothing. Gone. Under the current, ah, _state_ of their world, a nagging feeling in his gut whispered that she may not have simply decided that teaching was not, after all, her life time ambition, but that she may have become one of the hundreds that had disappeared.

The second mishap of the day had occurred at lunch. Being a school, pranking was, naturally, a frequent occurrence but why the Gryffindors had chosen this day above all others he had no idea! They seemed to have a habit of annoying the Slytherins right at the beginning of the year, obliterating any possible hope that the new first-years of the warring sides would strike a friendship, no matter how tentative. He had no doubt in Albus's abilities to keep the Lions under control but for some ungodly reason the man didn't. In fact, he would even go as far as to say that Albus _encouraged_ the children. He'd have to have a word with him.

On top of all of that, there was the constant flow of owls from worried parents, checking up on their children's security. As if Hogwarts wasn't already the safest place in Wizarding Britain! The idea that Grindelwald's forces could actually enter the school was preposterous, embarrassing even. However, he was forced to reply to each and every letter, explaining in great detail just how impossible it was for their children to be attacked. It had given him a splitting headache.

And now... This.

Sighing somewhat heavily, Professor Armando Dippet raised his wizened fingers, crinkled with age, to his temples and let them rest there. Slowly, he opened his eyes, shifting them to the young wizard before him.

The boy in question had leant back in his chair, emerald green eyes carefully surveying the office. He portrayed a rather odd balance of relaxed and nervous. Absently chewing on his lower lip while his hands clenched together on his lap, the knuckles white.

Tense.

His posture told a different story. Gracefully hunched, not stick straight and on a slight angle on the hard, wooden chair.

Comfortable.

Dippet wouldn't pretend to understand what it meant. Only years of watching students sit in that exact chair had taught him to pay attention to these subtle signs. They reflected the student's true emotions, no matter if their words said otherwise.

Dippet coughed, drawing the boy's gaze. "Luxtor."

"Yes, sir?" The boy said, tilting his head inquisitively.

"I think that, under the current circumstances, it would be best for you to remain here, at Hogwarts," Dippet told him, encouraged as the boy smiled. It made him seem more like the other students, childish and free. "We don't often accept new students, you must understand, although in previous years they have become more common, most for reasons such as your own."

An expression flashed the boy's face but it vanished before he could recognise it. Most likely grief. The poor boy's family had died in Grindelward's attack on his village – it was thoroughly expected for him to be upset.

"You say your knowledge is equivalent to that of a sixth-year's?"

"Yes," Luxtor said simply. "I was home tutored by my parents. They are ... _were_ brilliant at magic."

Dippet nodded stiffly, rifling through some papers on his desk. "You'll need to be sorted of course, and added to our records but that shouldn't take too long. Professor Dumbledore has agreed to look after your paperwork."

Luxtor smiled in amusement but that too vanished before Dippet could question its source. "Thank you, sir."

"Has he already explained how Hogwarts works? Lessons, houses?" Said Dippet, half praying the answer would be yes. He didn't know if he'd be able to stand explaining it all now, at this time of night after this type of day.

"He's gone through everything, sir," Luxtor said and Dippet allowed himself to exhale in relief. Albus could be very helpful sometimes. Thank goodness it had been him that had found the boy wandering about Hogsmeade that afternoon.

"Then you know about our Sorting Hat I presume?" Dippet questioned, standing and making his way over to a glass cabinet that took up a large portion of the circular office wall. Reaching up, he took a dirty, ragged hat from one of the topmost shelves and it fell limp in his hands.

"Yes, sir," Luxtor said, a little apprehensively. With the hesitant movements of one who'd rather be doing anything but, he took the hat from Dippet and placed it cautiously on his head.

There were several long minutes of silence in which Dippet merely observed the boy. He had a rather pronounced frown upon his face, and occasionally his mouth would move as if he were speaking yet he made no sound.

How odd. He'd never seen anybody argue with the Sorting Hat before.

"SLYTHERIN!" The hat eventually yelled and Luxtor's expression turned furious. He tugged the hat off his messy, dark hair and gave it to Dippet, looking away and visibly gritting his teeth.

There was an awkward silence which Dippet considered breaking with a 'congratulations', but something told him that the boy would find that insulting. Before he could come to a conclusion of what to say however, there was a light knock on the heavy, oak door.

They both looked up just as Albus Dumbledore swept majestically into the office.

The dusk light had thrown the elegant room into tones of dismal grey, causing Albus's yellow robe, midnight blue at the hem, to stick out like a sore thumb. It clashed horribly with the auburn hair but Dippet severely doubted that the esteemed wizard cared in the slightest.

Albus beamed at the both of them before his electric blue eyes landed on the worn hat. "I see I missed the sorting then," he said, disappointment clouding the usually sapient voice.

"Yes, sir," Luxtor replied, twisting his fingers in his lap, not meeting the Transfiguration teacher's eyes.

"And?"

Luxtor visibly swallowed and he clenched his hands tight as if to steel his nerves. Boy should have been in Gryffindor. He twisted over his shoulder to look directly at Albus. "Slytherin."

Albus's smile faded slightly as the two exchanged a significant look.

Dippet frowned, partly because he didn't truly understand the look and partly because of the subjective implications being aimed at Slytherin. "Now, now," he began, shaking his head and drawing their attention. "I don't know what Albus has been telling you, Luxtor, but Slytherin house isn't nearly as bad as it you think. Ambition can be a good trait too, you know. In fact, I have almost no doubt that one of our current Slytherins will go on to have a very important role in the Ministry in the upcoming years. Tom Riddle, he's called-"

The effect was instantaneous.

Luxtor's eyes went wide as he half stood, stumbling backwards and almost tripping over the chair. The boy froze, emerald eyes flicking between the two professors, mouth agape. "You can't be serious," Dippet thought he heard the boy mutter, accompanied by a string of terms often neglected of use in polite company.

Albus narrowed his eyes, surveying the boy with open curiosity. "Harold," he probed after a minute had passed and still the boy hadn't moved.

"Um, yes, sorry, sir," Luxtor snapped out of his trance, running a weary hand through his thick, black hair though his eyes were still as wide as saucers. "I-I thought I recognised the name, that's all. I was mistaken, it seems."

Dippet didn't believe a word of it.

Before he could even open his mouth to question, however, Albus flung the door wide open, gesturing for Luxtor to step through. "I'll have his paperwork to you for tomorrow evening, Armando," Albus said quickly, making to follow the boy out.

"Yes, yes," Dippet said, puzzled and taken aback at the abrupt departure, though he wasn't entirely displeased. Silence would be welcome as of now.

The door swung shut with a bang and Armando Dippet was left alone with his thoughts once more.

* * *

The long corridors were draped in a heavy darkness that the flickering torches could hardly penetrate, pressing down on all sides; suffocating him. Crushing his lungs until he could barely breathe. Tom Riddle. At Hogwarts. With him.

Crap.

Quite possibly one of the only words in the English Language capable of summing up the situation that he had somehow winded up in. Harry's hand slipped into his robe pocket again, a thumb running absently over a solid black box, no bigger than a chess piece. A pawn, probably. His hand tightened around it, _begging_ for it to transport him home. It wouldn't. He knew that. The magic it had been filled with had all but vanished. It was nothing more than a box.

"Harry."

"It's Harold," Harry immediately retorted, correcting his fifty-year-younger headmaster. "Harold Luxtor as I remember it." He couldn't help the snide tone. Why hadn't his current-day headmaster intercepted the owl? Surely there were wards against unknown owls bringing unknown packages to the _Chosen One_. Wasn't his security of 'top priority'?

Bloody Ministry. Bloody press. Bloody Voldemort. Bloody Dumbledore, come to think of it.

"You know of Tom Riddle." It wasn't a question therefore Harry didn't bother to indulge his headmaster with a reply. Next to him, Dumbledore sighed wearily. "I won't ask for fear of changing the future. Time should never be messed with, after all, but if there's anything I could do to help..."

Harry looked down at his feet, their steady path upon the flagged-stone. "Help me get back to my own time."

"Naturally," Dumbledore smoothly answered. "I'll need the box, of course."

The tightened fist withdrew from his pocket, the object neatly shielded inside it. He almost didn't want to let it go. Lose his faint hope that it would transport him back any second now; that he wouldn't be stuck here forever. Dumbledore raised his own hand, the skin intact, not charred and burned like his older self. With a deep breath, Harry unclenched and let it fall into the other's palm.

Quick as a flash, Dumbledore placed it within the relative safety of his cloak folds, tucked away, hidden from prying eyes. You never know who could be stalking the halls, a strong and stealthy predator. A silent shadow. A mass-murdering, evil psychopath.

Oh wait.

"Do you know of Professor Slughorn?" Dumbledore asked mildly, as if they'd just been talking about the weather, not time travel and the implied fact that he may never return home.

Harry mutely nodded, despite still venturing on unknown territory with the new Potions professor. He'd only known him a week, minus their brief interaction over the summer. He wouldn't specifically say he disliked the man, just that they didn't exactly have much in common, both being on directly opposite wavelengths regarding fame and fortune.

"He'll be your head of house," Dumbledore continued. "If there are any problems with current issues, he's the one to go to. Although please remember that my door will always be open to you."

Together, they stepped off the last stair of the sweeping marble staircase, footsteps now echoing eerily in the dark, empty entrance hall. Night had now fallen, the dusk giving way and the horizon swallowing the sun. Not that it would make a difference in the gloomy dungeons where Dumbledore was now leading him. It wasn't as if there were windows.

Anything. He'd do anything. Replay his summer with the Dursleys. Or have detention with Snape for a year. Heck, even be kidnapped by Voldemort. _Anything_ to not be stuck in September 1942.

 **A/N: Okay, so a quick note to make. In canon, Tom Riddle begins his sixth year in 1943 and opens the chamber during his fifth year. In my story, however, he's beginning his sixth year in 1942 and will open the chamber (eek spoilers) in the same year. This is simply for ease of the story for reasons that will come to light as it progresses. Just need to get that out there so no hate! Review, I'd love to know what you think.**


	2. Chapter 2

" _Blood_ ," Slughorn said, his voice injected with way too much enthusiasm as they stood before a section of rough, stone wall in the dungeons.

Ironic, that the password was blood. Harry understood the meaning behind it. Really, he did. The Slytherins were all too well-known for their affinity, some may even go as far as to say obsession, with magical blood. How muggle-borns were, to put it lightly, frowned upon.

No, the irony appeared when he thought about who he was about to meet. Voldemort. You-Know-Who. The Dark Lord. Tom Riddle. The one responsible for so much bloodshed that Grindelwald's reign was all but forgotten. The one who had murdered countless victims without a trace of remorse or regret. The one who had killed his parents. Made his life hell. Given him the title 'the Boy-Who-Lived'.

And now he was going to pay.

So why did he feel so anxious?

The wall slid open with a loud grinding noise. Not exactly as inconspicuous as you'd expect the entrance to the house for the sly to be.

Slughorn stepped over the threshold and Harry followed, somehow drawing every eye in the crowded room beyond. The coolness of the common room embraced him, welcoming him back to a home he'd never wanted.

Damn the Sorting Hat.

Despite the intense revulsion Harry felt at the idea of being a snake, he had to admit that the common room was elegant. Beautiful even. Sofas and armchairs made from a dark mahogany, the plush cushions a subtle green with luminescent silver lining. A fireplace, crackling with a warming power heated the temperature to just above freezing, yet somehow he didn't feel cold. Merely refreshed.

Harry loved it.

And yet he hated it.

Slughorn began his bumbling speech about how they should all be _nice_ to Harry Potter. Well, Harold Luxtor as he would now be known. He spun a shortened tale of how Harold's village had been attacked, how his family had died and how Hogwarts was the only safe place left for him. Not too far from the truth.

Harry blocked it out, searching the room for the familiar face.

He hardly had to look.

There. Relaxed in the armchair next to the fire: the prime seat. Dark hair, the same shade as Harry's yet neatly styled, so unlike his own untameable mop. Black robes, laid so gracefully around him that they may have been forced into shape. Intense, azure eyes staring straight. At. Him.

Harry caught his breath, unable to look away. The eyes locked him in place, rendering him unable of movement. Everything Slughorn was saying drowned to a faint buzz. He'd never felt so helpless, so completely and utterly at someone else's mercy, not even with Tom's adult counterpart.

And so he fought back.

A silent battle of wills ensued and Harry couldn't be sure if the other people in the room had noticed it or not. He suspected they had. So drawn in was he in his battle with Riddle that Harry almost missed Slughorn's next words.

"Ah, Tom m'boy." The pudgy man beckoned excitedly for Riddle to join them, the other Slytherins still watching silently from the sidelines. Riddle stood, shattering the eye contact and walking forwards to join Slughorn and Harry by the entrance.

Tom smiled at him, a smile so innocent and genuine that had Harry not known exactly what he would grow up to be, he would've easily fallen for it. "Nice to meet you, Harold," Tom said, extending his hand for Harry to shake. "I'm the sixth-year Prefect so should you have any questions, come to me."

Harry shook the extended hand, internally gasping at the shock of the cold, smooth skin.

He took a deep breath, feeling shaky on his feet. A sudden hatred coursed inside him, rushing through his blood, begging him to attack the smiling boy in front of him. Yet all he said was, "nice to meet you too, er?"

"Tom," Tom said. "Tom Riddle."

Slughorn beamed at the pair before clapping them both on the back. Harry hated to admit it but he was impressed that Riddle managed to contain a flinch. "I best be going," he told them. "You'll be fine here with Tom, Luxtor. He knows his way around Hogwarts better than half the staff," Slughorn said.

Tom looked away as if to hide an embarrassed smile. "I'm sure that's not true, sir."

"And modest too," Slughorn praised, winking at Harry before turning and exiting the common room with a last cheery wave.

As soon as the wall slid back into place with a heavy thunk, Harry felt his heart sink. Part of him wanted to go tearing after Slughorn, begging him not to leave him alone with his parents' murderer, but there was no going back now. The Slytherins all returned to their previous conversations though some shot him brief, curious glances.

To his surprise, Riddle's model student mask didn't slip as he'd expected it to the second there was no adult present. Instead, he continued to smile at him in that relaxed but oh so dangerous way.

"Would you like to sit with us, Harold?" Tom asked, gesturing to a collection of seats by the fireplace. The question was innocent enough, however Harry could sense the hidden order. The 'or else' that hung in the air. Glancing over at the seats Harry thought he saw a glimpse of white-blonde hair. A Malfoy. One of the original Death Eaters.

He gulped, a feeling of panic settling in. He couldn't force himself to sit with those people, he just ... couldn't. "Actually, I'm rather tired ..." Harry began hopelessly, trailing off when he saw Riddle's azure eyes harden.

"Are you sure?" Tom said, his voice still polite but now threaded with a poisonous undercurrent.

Oh God.

"Sorry, it's - it's been a long day," Harry replied weakly, hoping against all hope Riddle would just let him leave. Unfortunately it appeared his luck was no better in the past than it was in the future.

"Really," said Tom. "I insist." The taller boy jerked his wrist, making to catch Harry's arm. On instinct Harry stepped back, leaving Riddle's hand to clasp empty air. The other Slytherins stilled, seeming to catch their breath as one.

"Can you just show me where the dorms are?" Harry said, trying not to let fear sink into his voice. For the second time, he raised his emerald eyes to meet Riddle's.

He imagined Riddle would draw his wand, curse him, then force him to sit with his little posse of Death Eaters however, he was yet again surprised.

"Of course," Tom said after a slight pause, his icy voice sending shivers down Harry's back. "It's right this way." With a curling of the lip, Riddle turned, swiftly striding across the common room to a heavy door made from the same mahogany as the furniture, robes billowing out behind him. Harry hesitated, then followed.

The corridor beyond was long, several more doors on each side: third-year boys, forth-year boys, fifth-year boys. Sixth-year boys. Tom graciously held the door open, meaning Harry had to pass so close to him that they nearly touched. He could almost feel the sheer power radiating off from the older boy in pulsating waves.

The dormitory was spacious, six curved four-poster beds, draped with green hangings, the same hue as the chairs in the common room. Cool stone walls that, instead of causing a suffocating atmosphere, only served to make the room appear bigger. It was the polar opposite of his Gryffindor common room. While the other had been cosy and friendly, this was designed to keep you on edge, on your toes.

"That's your bed over there," Tom informed him, pointing at the bed on the right-hand side, nearest to the end wall. "The bathroom is at the end of this corridor. Turn right and keep walking, you can't miss it."

"Thanks," said Harry, nodding his head gratefully and moving to the trunk at the foot of his new bed. Quickly, he rifled through, examining the contents.

Nothing too extreme. New school books, a few sets of clean robes, basic potion ingredients and... Harry shoved the magenta robe embedded with golden stars to the very bottom of the trunk, cursing Dumbledore to high heaven and promising himself that he'd set it on fire at the soonest possible opportunity.

There was a slam as the door swung shut.

Harry ceased his rummaging and breathed a sigh of relief. Riddle had gone. He squeezed his eyes closed and leant his forehead against one of his bedposts, the cool wood decreasing the intensity of a mind numbing headache he could feel prodding its way to the surface.

When had life got so complicated?

Had it only been this morning that he'd awoken safe and sound within his _own_ Gryffindor dorm? It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Luxtor."

Harry spun around, holly wand flying into his hand before he could stop it.

So Riddle hadn't left. Shame.

Riddle cast a quick glance at the wand then looked back up at Harry's face. He didn't even draw his own wand. How insulting. Apparently Harry wasn't a threat. See what Riddle would think about that in fifty years time.

"I'd just like to inform you on how things work here in Slytherin," Riddle said, smiling. This smile was different however, to the one that came with the model student mask. It was cruel. Sadistic. Evil. His eyes gleamed. "You see, when I ask somebody to do something, they do it. Otherwise, someone gets hurt. Understood?" Riddle explained patronisingly, like how a primary teacher may explain one plus one equals two to a five-year-old.

Harry narrowed his eyes. On the one hand, he could simply accept Riddle's proposal and become one of his many pawns, or, on the other hand, he could not accept and become one of Riddle's many victims. It really was a lose-lose situation if ever there was one. "Sorry," Harry said, hastily making up his mind. "But I'm not one for following the rules." Be it this timeline or the next, he would _never_ join Voldemort.

Riddle moved so fast that Harry, even with his honed Quidditch reflexes, didn't see him coming. One moment he'd been standing by his bed and the next he was slammed against the wall with Riddle mere inches away from his face.

"Harold," Riddle mocked, icy hand gripping his left wrist so tightly that his nails were most likely drawing blood. "I don't like it when people don't obey me-"

"Well then I think you should get your superiority complex checked out," Harry bit back, not taking kindly to his personal bubble being destroyed.

Riddle slammed Harry's head back against the wall, causing Harry to contain a whimper. _That_ wasn't going to help his headache. " _Harold,_ " Riddle repeated. "You're only making things worse for yourself."

"I'm terrified," Harry taunted, trying to keep his voice even.

Definitely not the right thing to say.

Riddle flushed, an ugly red staining his angular cheeks. Keeping Harry pinned to the wall with one hand, he pulled out a familiar, yew wand from deep inside his robes with the other. Wands, Harry suddenly noted. It would be impossible for him to duel Riddle without their wands doing something stupid that would, of course, raise unnecessary questions that even Dumbledore couldn't cover up. He'd need a new wand. Damn.

"You can't use dark magic," Harry told Riddle, panting slightly as the tip of the opposing wand dug into his windpipe. "The wards will detect it."

Riddle froze, eyes flicking between each of Harry's. "Why did you think I was going to use dark magic?" He asked, curiosity now mixed in with venom. Never a good combination.

"Lucky guess," Harry said, internally hitting himself with the stupidity of his mistake. Which rational teenager suspected a fifteen-year-old boy whom they'd only just met of being about to use illegal dark magic? He supposed he could blame it on the whole bodily harm thing Riddle had going on right now, but … Riddle was a prodigy. A genius. He couldn't afford to slip up.

"Hmm," came the reply, azure eyes still staring straight into his. Harry suddenly realised his second mistake. What if Riddle had already mastered legilmens? He quickly clamped his eyes tight shut, twisting his head away for good measure.

Riddle still didn't let him go. His breath was soft on Harry's face, highlighting their proximity. The only thought Harry's scattered mind could gather was that if Riddle invaded peoples' personal space on a day-to-day basis, at least he brushed his teeth.

After what seemed like forever, Riddle laughed lightly. The sound was rich and deep, so different to the inhumane cackle of his adult self that Harry was temporarily stunned. "I'll see you around, _Luxtor,_ " Riddle said, his tone triumphant.

Finally, he let him go. Harry opened his eyes to see Riddle walking out of the dormitory without so much as a backwards glance.

Well that went well.

Gingerly he reached up to touch the back of his head. Yes, that hurt. If only he knew how to make a potion to cure headaches. He didn't feel like being acquainted with the 1942 Hogwarts' nurse as of yet. Glancing down at his left arm he noticed four small, red semi-circles. Bloody hell. How sharp were Riddle's nails?

Sighing, his breath uncertain and shaky, he pushed off from the wall and placed his trusty holly wand on the bedside table. A feeling of unease twisted in his stomach. He'd need a new wand; he could only too well imagine what people would say if he and Riddle caused priori incantatum in the middle of class.

Once dressed in his new cotton pyjamas, the comfy material relaxing him, Harry climbed into the soft bed, pulling the drapes closed and letting the darkness envelop him.

Time travel had to be exhausting for Harry was asleep the second his head hit the pillow.

* * *

Tom Marvolo Riddle wasn't one to be afraid. He didn't fear the monster under the bed because he _was_ the monster under the bed. He didn't fear the dark because nothing hiding out there was more dangerous than he. He didn't fear heights because he had magic to stop himself from falling.

And he certainly didn't fear Luxtor.

No, what had him worried was the familiarity in the boy's gaze. When the smaller boy had entered the common room his eyes had slipped straight to _him._ Luxtor had been searching for _him._ Why? He didn't know.

And he feared not knowing.

"Tom? Are you alright?"

Lycoris Avery.

Of course. He was always the most sensitive to Tom's mood swings. He seemed to have taken it upon himself to study the Slytherin heir's every move. It was mildly entertaining to say the least.

"I'm fine, thank you, Lycoris," Tom replied smoothly, watching the fire flickering in the grate.

Appeased, the light-haired boy sunk back into his chair, soft eyes still trained carefully on Tom.

"What are we doing about Luxtor?"

Marius Lestrange.

Broad with curly, black hair, he was the bulk of the small group, relying on strength rather than brains, something that often resulted in rash behaviour. Tom didn't mind – unless of course it got Marius into trouble. He balanced out their strengths. Added to the intimidation factor.

"We watch and wait. Right, Tom?"

Abraxus Malfoy.

The smooth-talker. The briber. His pureblood upbringing had provided him with fancy airs, money and a wealth of contacts at the ministry. A useful asset. He was sharp with a quick mind and was by far the best for an intelligent conversation.

"Or, we could add a few drops of Veritaserum to his morning pumpkin juice."

Alphard Black.

Enthusiastic and loyal to the core. A brilliant combination. He'd do whatever Tom asked of him without a shadow of doubt. Most regrettably he also contained a rather hyper personality, although if the situation demanded, he could keep himself under control.

"Don't be stupid, Black," Abraxus said with a roll of his eyes. "Where are we going to get our hands on Veritaserum? You know Slughorn doesn't keep a supply of it since the last lot went 'missing'."

"Did we really use up all of ours already?" Lycoris questioned curiously, eyes leaving Tom and resting on Abraxus instead.

"Yes," came the disdainful reply. "There was only just enough for the three of them."

"Then why don't we just hex Luxtor in the corridor?" Marius cut in, eagerly leaning forward in his chair.

Alphard sighed patronisingly. "That's too obvious, _Lestrange._ "

"Tom?" Lycoris asked softly, halting the argument before it had truly began. "What do we do?"

Slowly, Tom looked up from the fireplace, azure eyes resting on each of his followers in turn.

Directly next to him, on his left, was Lycoris, eyes wide, awaiting an answer. Between Lycoris and the fire was Alphard, grinning like the maniac he was. On Tom's right was Abraxus, head tilted in interest. Then came Marius, heavy eyebrows drawn downwards in a scowl.

"We watch and we wait," Tom said carefully, inclining his head towards Abraxus who smiled hugely, blushing at the indirect praise.

They were all so easy to play with.

"Don't act hostile," - here Tom looked sharply at Marius - "befriend him, gain his trust." They all nodded, accepting the order, none of them realising that this would be a near impossible feat. For Tom, after only one conversation with Harold Luxtor, had already discovered that the boy would be incredibly hard to convert. He appeared to hold misguided belief that he could simply ignore them and therefore, them he. How wrong he was.

Tom was going to have to play his game carefully.

Very carefully indeed.

 **A/N: Thank you so much to those wonderful people who favourited/followed/reviewed! I'd just like to mention that no, this story won't be slash. Personally I feel that Tom and Harry's relationship is much more intense as a friendship(ish) thing than romance. Besides, pretty sure Tom's asexual:)**


	3. Chapter 3

" _Kill the spare."_

 _Vivid red eyes boring straight through him. Burning pain ripping his forehead in two._

" _Crucio."_

 _A yew wand. Sharp knives stabbing into his body, invisible, non-existent, yet so real._

" _Please, not Harry! Take me, kill me instead."_

 _A flash of green light. A high, cold laugh, spitting with insanity._

 _More cackling._

 _A man; gaunt face surrounded by limp, dark locks, elegantly falling backwards. Silver veil reaching out swirling tentacles to ensnare him._

" _NO! Sirius! NO!"_

 _A black box, thrumming with magic._

 _Should have known._

It was an odd experience to wake up in the pitch black. Confusing. Disorientating.

In his Gryffindor dorm, the morning light always filtered through his crimson-red drapes, effectively waking him. Even in his cupboard at the Dursleys, light managed to seep in through the cracks under the bottom of the door. In the underground Slytherin dormitory however, there were no windows. No light. Just darkness.

And Merlin, wasn't that ironic?

For a while he lay still and silent in the dark, wanting to put off meeting the future inner circle of Death Eaters for as long as possible. _Why_ couldn't the hat have simply placed him in Gryffindor like it was supposed to? He wasn't a Slytherin. Perhaps if he had been put with the snakes since his first-year, he could've have been. But he hadn't. He was a Gryffindor through and through and no unexpected trip to the past was going to change that.

When he could postpone it no longer for fear of accidentally missing classes, Harry, after taking one last reassuring breath, pulled the green drapes back to meet the penetrating expressions of two boys.

The rest of the dormitory was empty and (thankfully) Riddle-free.

"Harold, wasn't it?" The boy on the right said, his voice light and melodic, hints of aristocracy tainting the tone. He was about Harry's height, perhaps a little shorter and had smooth, ash-brown hair swept across his face in the typical 1940's style.

"You're late," the other snapped before Harry could answer, folding muscular arms tight over his chest. He seemed to be built along the lines of Crabbe and Goyle, though from the way his nose was tilted in disapproval, it appeared the curly-haired boy harboured more brain cells.

The first boy shot his friend a sharp sideways glance, then looked back at Harry and stuck out a hand, smiling again. "Lycoris Avery, pleasure to meet you."

Swallowing a sudden bout of nausea at the all too familiar surname, Harry pushed himself to his feet and shook the hand, seeing no other logical choice if he wished to survive sharing a dorm with the future Death Eaters and their Dark Lord. "Harold Luxtor," Harry said, attempting to return the smile.

"Hurry and and get ready, would you," the burly boy complained nastily. "Or we're going to miss breakfast."

"Marius Lestrange," Lycoris said, jerking his head toward the other boy and rolling his eyes humorously. "As you can tell, he hasn't had his morning coffee yet ..."

Marius scowled furiously and, despite the indirect relation, Harry was forcefully reminded of Bellatrix. The same curling of the lip. The same leering posture. The same patronising tilting of the head. The difference however, rested in the eyes. While Bellatrix's had been dull, savage in their insanity, Marius's were sparkling with life and something akin to happiness.

"Um, right," Harry stuttered, feeling a prickle of foreboding as he turned his back on the Death Eaters to pull a clean set of school robes from his trunk.

A mere five minutes later, he was ready to go.

* * *

Tom chewed pensively on his toast, azure eyes carefully watching the entrance to the Great Hall. On his right was Abraxus, chattering idly with Alphard who sat opposite. Although to any prodding eyes, they appeared to be relaxed, normal students, Tom could tell from their tense tones and scattered glances at the door that they too were watching. Waiting.

He would be the first to admit – if he ever admitted to anything - that he didn't know how today would play out. Whether Harold would continue to have the audacity to disrespect him or if he would succumb to the Slytherin court. Tom deeply suspected the latter, though there was something more attractive to the former. There weren't many who had stood up to him; those that did often landed themselves in 'sticky situations'. He wanted to see how far he would have to go to wrap Harold so tightly in his grip that he couldn't escape. Force him to his knees in front of him, begging and totally submissive. A beautiful picture.

When the three Slytherins finally walked past the threshold, Tom gently put his toast back onto his plate, watching the green-eyed boy with undisguised inquisitiveness. He suspected Dumbledore - the manipulative git who always saw too much - of watching his actions with deep scrutiny, but in that moment he couldn't bring himself to care. The Professor was continuously observing him however Tom had come to the conclusion a long time ago that there was nothing the Transfiguration Professor could do. He hardly thought staring at a new student was enough to warrant him a trial with the Wizengamont, whatever Dumbledore's other suspicions.

Lycoris and Marius walked on either side of Harold, their positions startlingly similar to those of guards transporting a prisoner. Harold's murderous expression certainly did nothing to discard the metaphor. Tom indulged himself with a smirk before meeting Harold's eyes.

The smirk died on his face.

Luxtor was glaring at him with pure, undiluted loathing. Hatred so intense that had Tom been anyone else he would have backed away, cowering. As it was, he simply stuck to his seat, eyes widening before he regained control and with conscious effort drew up his mask.

"Harold Luxtor," Tom said by way of greeting, fully aware of how strained his voice sounded.

Lycoris moved around the end of the table to take his position on Tom's left and Marius sat opposite, half dragging Harold down to sit between him and Alphard.

The hatred in the emerald eyes didn't disappear. "Tom Riddle," Harold replied, the words almost spitting from his mouth.

Tom's four 'friends' stilled, expressions displaying a range of emotions; shock, anger, disbelief.

Ignoring them, Tom went back to his toast, feeling the new Slytherin's gaze on him all the while. "Are you going to eat anything?" Tom eventually prompted after Harold had done nothing but glare for several long minutes.

With a jerky movement, Harold grabbed a blood-red apple but didn't eat it, eyeing him cautiously with those vivid green orbs.

"It's not poisoned," Tom told him, raising an eyebrow sardonically.

"Can't be too careful," Harold muttered under his breath, finally taking a bite. The boy continued to glare at him then suddenly turned away, staring down the table, staring at the ceiling, staring at the High Table. Anywhere, Tom noticed, apart from at the small group.

"What do we have first?" Alphard asked in a clear attempt to break the suddenly tense silence. Typical. The Black couldn't stand any type of quietness for longer than thirty seconds. Heaven only knows how he had survived OWLs.

"Defence," Abraxus immediately replied, word slipping off his tongue.

Alphard groaned loudly, leaning back in his seat. "With Merryweather?" He said distastefully, curling his lip. "She's awful."

"Tom would be a much better teacher," Lycoris glanced sideways at him, hazel eyes seeking approval.

Inwardly pleased, Tom smirked but before he could reply he heard a derisive snort from opposite him.

"Something you want to share, _Luxtor,_ " Marius said, his deep voice bristling with hostility.

Harold looked airily between them all, absently turning the apple over in his hands and Tom got the very distinct impression that Harold was taking enjoyment in baiting them. In knowing something they didn't. "I simply didn't think the headmaster was one to go around employing sadistic bastards-"

Under the table, Tom's foot collided hard with Marius's shin, successively stopping the boy from throttling Harold. The others all froze, some glaring, some staring wide-eyed at the stupid boy with a too big mouth.

"Oh really?" Tom questioned sweetly, not certain of the emotion rushing through his body. Anger? He didn't think so. Amusement? Wasn't that either. "Then I presume you haven't met Professor Binns? He appears to take excessive pleasure from boring students to death."

Without any warning, Harold stood, swinging a book bag over his shoulder and dumping the half-eaten apple back on the table. "I think I've overstayed my welcome, I'll see you in class." The messy-haired boy span on his heel and stalked away, his movements drawing the eyes of several of the more observant students and teachers.

Once Harold had left, his group all turned warily back to him, flushed patches on their cheeks. Apparently they were just as provoked at insults aimed at Tom as Tom was. How naïve.

Tom's eyes hardened and he looked from student to student, an unfamiliar humiliated anger gnawing inside him. "What _exactly_ did you think you were doing?" Tom inquired of Marius, voice quiet, soft, sparking in danger.

The Lestrange had the decency to go sickly pale. "I-I'm … Sorry-"

Pitiful.

"Don't act hostile, I told you," Tom continued, Harold's abrupt departure stinging his pride. He placed his long, pale hands on the table and leaned forwards, azure eyes glaring daggers at the older boy. "Didn't I?"

"Y-yes, m-my lord."

"That's what I thought." Tom stayed frozen in his position for a moment longer, itching to draw his wand despite the thousands of eyes in the hall. Later, perhaps. He leant back, grabbing his bag from under the table and shot them all a warning glare not to follow him.

It was only once he too had stalked out of the Great Hall that Tom wondered where on earth his sudden anger had come from. He'd always been a little, ah, unstable with his tendencies to lash out at unsuspecting moments. But this, the anger. It felt _foreign_. As if it wasn't his.

He chewed his lip, feeling uneasy. A side effect of the legilimency practice maybe? Could he somehow be accidentally tapping into others' emotions? He doubted it. He could hardly feel his _own_ emotions, much less someone else's.

Tom took a deep breath, regaining his composure and filing away a mental note to look into it later. He could hardly become a vessel for human feelings, switching between like a ticking human pendulum.

A little unnerved but hiding it firmly behind his façade he headed off to Defence, once again focused on his new 'project'.

* * *

Harry was among the first to arrive outside the Defence classroom. The location hadn't changed over the years though he'd had to follow a couple of Ravenclaws to evade suspicion. The new student wasn't exactly going to know his way around a humongous magical castle on his first day.

The anger he'd felt at breakfast had finally ebbed away, leaving him confused and irritable. So Tom thought he could just force Harry to sit with him and all would be fine and dandy, did he? Hell no. He wouldn't be giving into Voldemort that easily.

Harry leant against the cool stone, grateful that the headache from yesterday had all but vanished. Regrettably there was still a painful lump on the back of his head from being smashed against the wall though hopefully that too would soon go; fingers crossed that Riddle wouldn't give him any more injuries in the mean time...

Think of the devil and he shall appear.

Harry bit back a groan as he spotted the familiar dark-haired sociopath walking straight toward him. Ten minutes alone. That was all he wanted. Fate really did hate him.

"Didn't you get that I didn't want to speak to you?" Harry spat once Riddle had come to a stop next to him, mimicking Harry's behaviour and leaning against the wall. The Ravenclaws shot Harry a startled look, most probably amazed that someone wasn't worshipping the very ground the teenage dark lord walked upon.

Bloody dark lord.

Tom seemed to have noticed this too for he raised his eyebrows in amusement, azure eyes flicking to the other students before they rested back on Harry. "What makes you think I was going to speak to you?" He asked politely, smiling in mock confusion. "I could simply be lining up for class."

Harry glared viciously, sure that he'd end up exercising his eyebrows much more than was natural what with being surrounded by infuriating Slytherins. "Of course, that's exactly why you're invading my personal space," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"Well you are standing right by the door," Tom said innocently with a casual gesture to the door on the other side of Harry.

Harry pointedly turned his back on Riddle and moved to the opposite side of the hallway. He was being petty, he knew, but there seemed to be something really satisfying about winding the other boy up.

Predictably, Tom followed him, resuming his position leaning against the wall and raising his eyebrows mockingly, informing him he couldn't escape that easily.

"What's your excuse now?" Harry grumbled, aware that more students had arrived from breakfast, lining up and talking loudly. A group of Hufflepuffs were staring at him with undisguised curiosity. It seemed their head of house had neglected to tell them of his status as a transfer student.

Riddle merely shrugged, azure eyes hardening and focusing intently on Harry's face. The body language was innocent enough, if a little intense, but Riddle's velvety voice sent shivers down Harry's back. "I'm curious about the new student."

"What's so curious about me?" Harry instantly countered, his heartbeat quickening. Riddle holding any kind of interest in him couldn't be anything but bad. He had no doubt that if the child prodigy became too absorbed and dug too deep, he would discover his secret. And Harry didn't need his Dreadful in Divination to predict how events would unfold from there.

"Many things," Riddle purred, voice quiet, soft and pensive. It was impossible to decipher the intent behind the words; the mask.

Harry inconspicuously wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his school robes, eyes flickering behind Riddle's shoulder and landing on the posse of Death Eaters. "Looks like your followers are missing you, why don't you go harass them?" He hadn't been lying. The group of four were standing closer together than was normal, worriedly eyeing the dark lord, twisting their fingers, biting their lips.

Riddle didn't move.

There was a wheezy cough and Harry, desperate for a distraction, looked toward the door to see an aged witch pursing her lips at the non-existent neat line of students. "Well? What are you waiting for?" She snapped, her voice much stronger than her frail appearance. "In, all of you."

The phrase 'saved by the bell' sprung to mind.

Harry obediently complied, firmly turning his back on Riddle and hoisting his bag further up on his shoulder.

The Defence classroom hadn't changed much; a few posters on the wall perhaps and the layout of the desks. Otherwise, Harry may have been magically transported back to his own time. So similar were the rooms that Harry half expected Hermione and Ron to be sitting in their seats, beckoning for him to join them.

They weren't.

He dawdled at the back, unsure of where to sit. It seemed that everyone else already had their places, chattering with friends as they pulled their belongings from their bags. Wands, Harry saw. Not just books. His stomach jolted. The hassle of the morning had caused him to forget that little blip. The fact that Riddle and he wouldn't be able to attack each other - with their wands, that is to say. He would happily punch the git.

"Mr. Luxtor," the Defence professor - Merryweather, he remembered one of the Death Eaters calling her - grabbed his attention. "If you could take that seat there." She gestured impatiently to a seat near the back, mercifully as far away from Riddle as he was likely to get. Maybe fate wasn't _that_ mad at him.

Harry dumped his bags under the appointed desk, falling into a chair next to a Hufflepuff boy with sandy hair and pale blue eyes.

"Hullo," the boy said, smiling goofily but his eyes rested uncertainly on Harry's Slytherin robes.

"Hi," Harry replied wearily, running a hand through his messy hair and taking a sheet of parchment, a quill and an ink pot from his bag.

Encouraged, the boy's smile widened, distrust fading slightly. "I'm Ralph Timby," he introduced.

"Harold Luxtor," Harry said shortly, disturbed at how easily the name formed in his mouth. Was he already that familiar with this timeline? This identity?

Their conversation was cut short by Professor Merryweather clearing her throat again, scowling around at the class. "Wands out, everyone," she declared in her raspy tone. "Today we're going to be continuing our work on duelling..."

Duelling? Harry blinked, surprised. Apart from the hopeless attempt at a duelling club hosted by a fraud and a Death Eater, current-day Hogwarts had never really focused on that aspect of magic, choosing to teach spells instead. Shame. Duelling would've been damn useful.

He listened, paying rapt attention, as Merryweather outlined the type of fighting they were aiming for; evasive techniques. Flight, not fight. She had them split off into pairs and for a terrible moment of suspension, he'd thought fate would be a git and place him with Riddle – it didn't, thank goodness. Ralph readily agreed to partner with him for which Harry was grateful; the Slytherins had been shooting him leering glances.

" _Stupefy._ "

" _Protego."_

" _Expelliarmus."_

Harry niftily caught Ralph's wand as it flew in a graceful arc through the air. In an attempt to hide behind a desk that had been propped up by the wall in order to make room for the duels, the blue-eyed boy had let down his shield, allowing Harry to attack. In a way, it was too easy.

"Very nice Mr. Luxtor," he heard Merryweather praise as she shuffled around the room, trying to dodge haphazardly cast spells.

Harry's lips tugged upwards at the praise. He turned and threw the wand back to Ralph who stumbled, fumbling to catch it. "Your turn."

Despite his clumsiness, the Hufflepuff smirked. "You'll regret you ever did that, Luxtor! _Imperdimenta!_ "

" _Protego."_

Little did Harry notice the azure eyes that were rested solely upon him, hungrily drinking in his every move.

 **A/N: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. They make my day! Whenever I read them I promptly smile like an idiot... Sorry this chapter was a little filler-y but I don't like having huge chapters and it was needed so... there you go. More action next time.**


	4. Chapter 4

It was with a heavy heart and a splitting migraine that Harry returned from Dumbledore's office that evening.

A week. He'd have to wait _a week_ for a new wand.

Obviously Dumbledore hadn't grasped the severity of the situation, otherwise he and Harry would be well on their way to Diagon Alley by now. For unless Harry wished to expose his true identity to the whole school, he was practically defenceless against an evil sociopath who was trying to discover his secrets and would no doubt kill him (after getting the information he wanted) once he found out.

And no. Harry was not overreacting.

When he'd spotted Dumbledore after appearing, disorientated, in Hogsmeade yesterday afternoon, he'd been beyond relieved. Dumbledore could easily sort everything out. He'd be able to send him back to his own timeline no problem. Ha. No problem. The only useful thing Dumbledore had done so far was to help him enrol in Hogwarts, and he'd probably only done that to keep Harry right under his nose. After all, who wanted a loose time traveller running about the place?

Harry's hands clenched tighter around the stack of books he was carrying.

He was sick of it. Whoever had sent him back – currently he was debating between Voldemort as an evil plot or Draco Malfoy as some kind of sick joke – he hated them. And the large amount of homework he'd been burdened with had done nothing to improve his mood. An eight foot essay for Defence, a nine foot one for Potions, ten feet for Transfiguration. At least he'd had a free period last. Charms had been scheduled but for the time being all of those lessons had been cancelled, something about the professor unexpectedly resigning.

"Oof," Harry exclaimed, walking straight into someone as he rounded a corner, promptly stumbling and scattering his large books all around him.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," the offender said and for a singular, glorious moment, Harry was suddenly struck with the thought that he'd somehow managed to magic himself back to his own timeline. A Draco Malfoy look alike was straightening his neat robes, thin lips twisted into an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid I wasn't looking where I was going." The blonde boy then paused, grey eyes widening as he peered closer at Harry. "I say, are you quite alright?"

"Um, yeah fine," Harry said, mentally shaking himself out of a slight daze. This was Abraxus Malfoy. Not Draco. They may be a near splitting image but his school nemesis would never act so polite, though he'd be damned if the new Malfoy wasn't doing this on Riddle's orders.

"I'm Abraxus Malfoy," the stranger introduced, bending down to collect Harry's fallen textbooks. "We met briefly this morning though I fear we may not have gotten off to a brilliant start." There was a pregnant pause in which both of them appeared to be reflecting on Harry's abrupt departure at breakfast. "But no worries. There's no lasting harm," Abraxus continued, cheerfully handing back the books. " _The Mysteries of Time_?" He suddenly asked, catching sight of one of the titles.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, heart leaping and palms sweaty as he snatched back his books and stuffed them into his school bag. "Just some, er, background reading."

"Right," Abraxus said but his smile no longer reached his cool eyes. "Well, I presume you were heading back to the common room. It's starting to get late and it wouldn't do for you to be caught out after curfew on your second night."

"Well, no but-"

"Excellent," Malfoy interrupted, starting to stride away and gesturing for Harry to follow. "I can take you there myself, seeing as you still don't know your way around the castle."

"Actually, I was... um..." The protest died on Harry's lips as Abraxus regally marched on, paying no heed to Harry's feeble ditching attempts.

"Where did you get those books? They're hardly syllabus," Abraxus asked curiously, raising two pointed eyebrows.

Harry paused for half a second. In truth, Dumbledore had given them to him so he could read up on his 'situation' in the vain outlook of finding something remotely helpful. He wasn't hopeful, time turners hadn't even been invented yet! But he couldn't tell Abraxus that. He was sure the Malfoy would be reporting every word of their conversation back to Riddle, and the Dark Lord knowing he was close to Dumbledore would hardly reduce suspicion. "Library," Harry replied bluntly. "Isn't that usually where you get books in this place?"

"Naturally," Abraxus smoothly said, grey eyes flicking over to him. "Who did you ask for directions?"

"Some Ravenclaw," Harry lied casually, refusing to look at the taller blonde.

"Really?" Abraxus sounded surprised. "Which one?"

"Dunno," said Harry with a feeling of growing irritation. Riddle had put Abraxus up to this, he was certain. "What is this? Twenty-one questions?"

Abraxus suddenly frowned at him, narrowing his eyes. "No, I'm just curious. The Ravenclaws wouldn't usually go out of their way to help a Slytherin."

Harry tried to shrug nonchalantly, shoving his balled fists deep in his robe pockets, his right hand gently resting the smooth wood of his holly wand. He sincerely doubted Abraxus would attack him or anything, but still, it was reassuring to be armed while walking side-by-side with a Death Eater. "Hardly my problem."

"Regrettably, I think you'll find it is," Abraxus said, looking forwards again, frown fading away to form a more thoughtful expression. "The other houses are particularly prejudice toward Slytherins due to our founders supposed views. None of them like us." He shot Harry a tight-lipped smile then his expression cleared. "With Tom being the only exception, of course."

"Of course," Harry repeated, unable to stop the sarcasm. "Who couldn't like an angel such as Tom?"

"You, apparently," Abraxus replied bitterly, frown returning and upper lip curling. "Though why I'll never understand."

Harry very pointedly chose to ignore that comment and spent the rest of the awkward journey down to the dreary dungeons thinking of numerous ways to kill Riddle in payment for all the things he had done. Not that he was being sadistic. Just vengeful; there was a difference. He really hoped there was a difference.

Abraxus halted at the entrance to the common room, folding his arms over his crisply ironed robe and sharply turning to face him. "You should give us a chance you know, Harold. I highly doubt we are who you think we are." And with that he stated the password and slipped into the room to join Riddle and his fellow lackeys in their usual seats in front of the fire, leaving Harry to sullenly glare at empty space, his stomach in knots.

* * *

A log shifted in the grate, briefly causing tongues of orange flame to lick higher before dying back down to their weak rhythm. The other Slytherins had long since retired, succumbing to tiredness and fatigue yet still, Tom sat. Long fingers tracing over dry parchment, azure eyes roaming the cursive ink, usually perfect posture hunched low over the table, a studious frown upon his chiselled features.

A short while after the tall Grandfather Clock chimed two, he closed the book, fingers running over the rich leather cover. Silent as a shadow, he stood, dark robe billowing as he slipped through the door leading to the boys' dormitories.

The sixth-year dorm was as quiet as the grave, the other boys all sleeping peacefully, the only time when they truly let their guard down. Tom placed the book carefully in the bottom of his trunk, hidden by clothes and a lattice of magic; better safe than sorry. For a moment he paused, head tilted in a predatory manner. Soft breathing surrounded him, sounding oddly like the gentle whoosh of waves on a relaxed summer's day, calling him back into his own satisfying memories of the noise. A small green snake sliding through sharp marram grass; moisture hanging heavy in a damp cave; wide, terrified eyes. The screams...

"No, please. Cedric."

Pained moans, muffled as if spoken into a feathery pillow, caused Tom's eyes to snap wide open in the dark.

"Mum, dad, he's going to kill me."

Whimpers, hardly audible, not enough to awaken coming from the last bed on the right-hand side.

"Sirius, help me! He killed Cedric."

Harold.

The breaths from behind the green drapes came faster now as Tom stood stock still, listening intently.

"No! Sirius, no. Don't leave me. Please, Sirius. Sirius!"

There came a sudden intake of air and the sound of rustling sheets, loud in the dense silence. It appeared the nightmares – for what else could they be – had tossed the boy into conciousness.

Tom took a careful step backwards, letting the shadows that clung to the stone wall reach out, successfully engulfing him as Harold pulled back his drapes. A cruel smile tugged at Tom's lips. He could hardly believe his luck. When asleep, masks all but melted away. He'd just had a very real glimpse of the true Harold Luxtor.

And it was, if possible, even more delicious than the fake.

Momentarily he halted his breathing as footsteps padded past him. Nothing but slight movement and sound in the darkness. The door was pulled open, flickering light from the torches outside carving a thin line on the floor and stone wall. His best course of action plotted, Tom quietly slipped through the gap moments before the door fell shut.

Tom then froze, tensing his muscles until Harold had made it through the mahogany door into the common room. This too, he slid through, stopping a few steps into the room to watch Luxtor sink into an armchair in front of the fire, his head falling wearily onto his palms.

The black hair was sticking up in odd places, even messier than usual and the scarred hands that were frequently running through it certainly weren't helping. Harold's posture really was awful, slouching low with his shoulders rolled forwards. Tom tilted his head, examining. There was so much he could do to correct the boy, if only Harold would let him. Then again, Tom had never exactly cared for other's opinions.

"Who's Cedric?"

Tom could've laughed at the hilarity of Harold's reaction to his soft voice. He had stumbled to his feet, eyes turning to saucers and mouth falling open. Tom observed with interest as the boy's defences snapped up. The emerald eyes hardened, jaw clenched tightly, back straightening. That was better.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Riddle." The hatred was simply intoxicating.

Tom hummed under his breath then took several long strides forward until the two were mere inches apart. "What about Sirius?" He questioned casually.

Harold involuntarily flinched, stepping backwards but Tom's hand flicked out to catch his wrist, the pad of his thumb resting gently upon the pulse point. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough pressure to serve as a warning. "I don't know any-"

"Have I ever told you," Tom asked, smiling sweetly. "About my remarkable talent of knowing when I'm being lied to?" Internally, he smirked in pleasure as Harold's eyes widened even further and he began to tug furiously on the wrist in Tom's grasp, the pulse quickening.

"Get off me," the younger boy growled, tugging harder but Tom only tightened his grip. Harold wasn't sneaking away that easily. Not until he had his desired information. In fact, not ever, if he could help it. Harold was his.

"No," Tom taunted.

Harold's frantic struggling immediately ceased. The shorter boy jerked his head upwards, the emerald eyes, now narrowed viciously, meeting his own head on. It was as if he had a death wish. The last person to look at him like that, well, he had sincerely regretted it. Still, the challenge was welcome... for now. "I don't know what you want from me but-"

"Don't you?" Tom questioned, once more stepping forwards and tilting his head. In terrible sync, Harold stepped backwards again, as if they were dancing. "See, I believe you're hiding something, Luxtor, and I'm determined to discover what it is."

"I'm not hiding anything!" Harold furiously denied. But the eyes. The beautiful eyes gave it away. Liar.

"Then tell me," Tom said, his voice calm, even and unchanging. "Who's Sirius?"

The silence, the way Harold twisted his head away, dropping his gaze, was all the answer Tom needed.

He hummed lightly, chewing on his lower lip and thinking hard. All the while his azure eyes didn't leave Harold's face. "Sirius... Black?"

Harold took a startled step backwards, causing Tom to allow a small smile to slide onto his face. Excellent. Not wanting to lose any advantage, he closed the gap, aware of how close Harold was to the stone wall. No more retreating. "Though I do wonder," Tom said, drinking in all of Harold's delightful reactions. "How you would know Alphard's great uncle."

There it was. A flicker of confusion. That was... unexpected.

"Unless it's not Alphard's great uncle," Tom said slowly, thumb skating over Harold's fluttering pulse as he mused. "Of course, it couldn't be Alphard's great great uncle, also named Sirius Black. He died long before you were even born."

"What are you talking about?" Harold eventually hissed, turning his head to look directly at Tom once again. "I don't know a Sirius Black and I have no idea where the hell you got that idea from-"

Tom smiled pleasantly. "It seems you're suffering from nightmares, Luxtor. Not uncommon after a, ah, _traumatic_ incident such as your own, though talking in your sleep can be a rather unfortunate side effect."

Harold's eyes widened in realisation from behind those ridiculous glasses. For the last time, Harold stepped backwards, a wince crossing his face as the back on his head thumped against the wall.

Hardly able to keep a smile from gracing his features, Tom moved forward and lifted his spare hand to hold the pale jaw, pushing the head up, inspecting. The boy immediately tried to squirm away but Tom painfully tightened his grip, causing Harold to let out a reluctant whimper, emerald eyes blazing in defiance.

It was then that Tom suddenly noticed it, and once he did, he wondered how he could've missed it. A scar, jagged as lightning, marred the innocent forehead. Sparkling red, the mark almost demanded attention but was hidden away behind the raven locks. Gently, he pushed aside a strand of hair and traced the outline, a sudden bout of nostalgia and another oddly unfamiliar emotion clutching his insides. "How did you..." Tom murmured, azure eyes drinking in every detail, fully absorbed, finger practically touching the tip of the bolt. "How did you get-"

SMACK.

Tom lurched back, dropping the slim wrist. Crimson blood was streaming from his nose, tasting coppery in his mouth. It stained his left hand, which was gingerly clutching the bridge in sharp pain as his right hand fumbled in his pocket for his wand. He spun around but it was too late. The stone wall that served as an entrance was slowly sliding shut, the grinding noise loud in the echoey silence.

Frustrated beyond measure, Tom's knuckles turned white as he clenched his wand harder, yew threatening to splinter from the pressure. Not only had the insolent little brat punched him but he had cut their conversation much too short. Oh Harold was in trouble... So much trouble...

With a wave of his wand, a crack like a gunshot reverberated around the otherwise silent common room as his nose mended itself, bone fusing back together. Too angry to make the effort to be quiet, Tom stormed off, half slamming the dormitory door shut behind him, not caring who he awoke. He tried to take a deep, calming breath but was overcome by a fit of anger. His yew wand was frantically buzzing beneath his fingertips. So much power they had together. Oh what he yearned to do.

Harold Luxtor was an enigma and Tom thrived on the challenge, the new game, but he'd been too forgiving. Allowing the boy to believe he actually had power over him. Naturally, there was something there, Tom wouldn't bother if there wasn't. But enough to rival _him?_ Absurd.

"Tom?" A blurry eyed Lycoris stuck his head out from his drapes, ash-brown hair sticking all over the place. "Oh Merlin, Tom!" He gushed as the torchlight threw a sharp shadow on Tom's bloodied face. He clambered out of bed straight away, nearly getting caught up in the green curtains in his haste to grab a flannel from his trunk. "What happened?"

Tom shot him nothing but a contemptuous glare, his azure eyes burning in the flickering light. Burning so bright that for a singular moment, they could've been red.

* * *

Harry ran. Sprinting as far away from the common room as he could. Not caring that it was past curfew. Not caring that he could be caught. He just ran.

He was on the forth floor when he finally stopped, deathly pale and madly shaking, practically collapsing to the floor in a shivering mess. Every night he revisited the graveyard. Every night he was forced to watch Cedric die in a flash of green light. Every night he watched Voldemort rise again. And Riddle, _bloody Riddle,_ had touched his scar, just as Voldemort did every night. True, it hadn't felt the same. The pain had been absent, that was a relief. No, it had been the gesture which had terrified him. He'd thought Tom wasn't Voldemort yet. He was. He _was_ Voldemort. Tom Marvolo Riddle. I am Lord Voldemort. He'd been stupid to even consider otherwise.

His hand hurt, the knuckles already beginning to swell. Unsurprising, really, considering that was the first time he'd punched someone. Properly punched someone. It had felt good - heck, it had felt brilliant – but he'd angered Riddle. Merlin, he was screwed. Granted, having a psychopath out to get him wasn't an entirely new concept, but then again, he'd never slept in the same dorm as one before!

Thinking of... He couldn't go back, not tonight. Riddle would probably murder him in his sleep. He'd head to the room of requirement in a minute. He couldn't just sit in this dark corridor for four hours. Five minutes later however, he still hadn't moved. The flagged-stone floor was just too comfy. His head relaxed back against the wall before he suddenly hissed in pain, jerking his head forwards again. So apparently having his head smashed against a wall for a second time hadn't helped get rid of the lump he'd gotten from having his head smashed against a wall the first time. No surprise there.

He wrapped his arms around his legs and let his head fall on them instead, a cool breeze ruffling his hair and making him shiver in his thin, cotton pyjamas. He'd been in this timeline for roughly thirty hours and already he felt like breaking down and sobbing, partly from homesickness and partly from sheer exhaustion. He could hardly remember the last time he'd slept the whole night; not waking when he saw Sirius's broken body falling through the veil or Cedric extinguished in green light or Voldemort's leering, skeletal face. And now he had the added pleasure of seeing the younger version of that face every day.

Why? Why him? Why was it _always_ him?

He had to clench his teeth tightly to stop moisture from spilling over and tracing clear lines on his cheeks. Silvery moonlight shinning in from a nearby mullioned window reflected on tiny droplets of water vapour as he shakily breathed out, hands clinging tighter to his pyjamas, wearing away at the thread as he sat alone in the deserted corridor.

It was a pair of shuffling footsteps which finally made him jerk his head up, panic gripping his heart at the prospect of explaining himself to a professor. As the shuffling gradually got closer and closer, Harry eased himself to his feet, torn between sprinting away or freezing exactly where he was and blindly praying he wouldn't be noticed in the near pitch black. He caught movement at the end of the dark corridor as a slouching shape rounded it, dragging its feet. It shuffled down the narrow corridor toward Harry eventually passing one of the tall windows, the moonlight hitting the shape and allowing Harry to make out what it was. He very nearly laughed.

A man, professor, Harry suspected, fairly squat and donning various scarves and flowing robes was hunched over, a bottle swinging from his hand. He had wild, mousy-coloured hair that was standing on its end and was muttering nonsense under his breath, occasionally throwing a distracted glance over his shoulder.

Harry vaguely recognised him from his brief visits to the Great Hall, though he couldn't for the life of him remember what he taught. Divination, maybe. The whole appearance (in both clothes and mannerisms) distinctly reminded him of Trelawney. Harry tensed as the man drew nearer, flattening himself as close to the wall as he could get, holding his breath. He should have ran. Why hadn't he ran?

For a split second, Harry thought he'd gotten away with it – the professor ambled straight past him, still muttering nonsense and avidly shaking his head, but as he passed the next window along, the man suddenly froze, going completely rigid in the moonlight. He began to shudder, so dramatically and viciously that Harry honestly thought he was having some kind of fit. He then revolved on the spot, scarves falling off one shoulder, eyes wide, blank and unseeing.

Harry knew what was going to happen almost before it did.

" _When night stroke equality,_ " the man garbled, his voice raspy and hoarse, like a rake scraping on concrete. " _A fated plan was hatched. When the darkest day comes, the secrets will be revealed... born from love and saved by love must choose. To darkness or light the worlds must collide... when night strikes equality..._ "

The professor took a great breath and his eyes drooped closed. When they opened again, they were peering intently at a dumbstruck, green-eyed boy. "So sorry," he slurred, stumbling as the feeling came back into the old man's legs. "Afraid I, er, lost... lost my way... yes... well." He took a long swig from his bottle, draining it dry, then nodded once and shuffled away as if nothing were amiss.

Harry groaned to himself, sleep threatening to take over his frazzled mind, forcing him to lean sideways against the cold wall to keep his balance. Seriously? This, on top of every thing else? Another bloody prophecy.

 **A/N: So... Meet my English revision. This totally counts, right? I mean Harry Potter isn't exactly the same as Of Mice And Men but hey, I'm doing English. It counts. Anyway... Thanks for all the continued support, knowing that people love this story just as much as I do makes my day:)**


	5. Chapter 5

Harry was precisely twenty-three minutes late to History of Magic. Personally, he blamed Riddle.

In his desperation to avoid running into the arrogant bastard, he'd waited until the very last minute to dash down to the dormitory from the room of requirement, change into his school robes and pick up his books. The pros: so far, he'd achieved his goal. The cons: he'd missed breakfast and catapulted head-first into his current dilemma.

When Harry entered the packed classroom, Binns didn't so much as glance up from his notes nor pause in his continuous droning - honestly, some things never changed. The problem, however, was that there was only one spare seat; right next to Alphard Black. Bloody brilliant. If most of the students – minus Riddle who appeared to be ignoring him – hadn't twisted around to see what the disturbance was, he would've been severely tempted to spin around and walk straight back out again.

Regrettably, unless he wanted to look like a coward, that was no longer an option.

Harry flung himself into the spare seat at the back of the room, deliberately ignoring the scrutinising way in which the other boy was observing him. It was painful, the similarities Alphard had to Sirius before Azkaban had blemished him. Wavy, shoulder-length black hair; athletically lean posture; pale complexion.

"Late, are we?" Alphard drawled.

Oh, and the cocky attitude.

Harry huffily pulled out his parchment, quill and ink, replying with nothing but a scathing look before pointedly angling his chair in the other direction.

"Not very friendly," Alphard said, his low voice ensuring their conversation remained private from the other students, all of whom were in various stages of sleepy boredom. Whoever had the bright idea of sending teenagers to History of Magic at nine o'clock on a Friday morning?

"I doubt anyone would be friendly with only four hours sleep," Harry hissed back, pulling his parchment closer towards him and scribbling the date - Friday 25th September 1942 – on the top, taking extra care with the year in case Alphard was peeking over his shoulder. Writing 1996 might be a bit of a giveaway.

"Only four hours," Alphard muttered mockingly, shaking his head. "One would wonder what you were doing half the night."

"I'd tell you, but I'm sure Riddle got there first," Harry coolly replied, not tearing his eyes away from his parchment.

"Now that you mention it, Lycoris did have a rather interesting story," Alphard mused, casually swinging back on his chair. When Harry provided no answer or explanation, he carried on, evidently so desperate to socialise that even a one-sided conversation would suffice. "Something about you punching Tom..."

"Watch out, Black," Harry retorted, nearing blotting his parchment as his hand clenched around his quill. "Don't think your lord would want you spreading rumours about him."

Alphard's chair returned to all four legs with a bang.

Oops.

"My what?" Alphard questioned sharply, black eyes narrowing in suspicion. Their gaze wasn't as intense as Riddle's, not by long shot, but it was enough to make heat creep to the back of Harry's neck.

"Forget it," Harry muttered, leaning low over his parchment again while internally smacking himself. Part of his cover story should've been that he was mute, perhaps that would have stopped him from blurting out clues to his identity every five seconds. At this rate he'd be caught by next week, especially as detective Riddle was on the case.

"My what, Luxtor?" Alphard repeated dangerously, trying for intimidation by leaning closer, a tactic that would've worked had Harry not detected something else in the rich tone: fear.

"Do you mind?" Harry snapped back. "I'm trying to do my work."

"Yes, that's exactly why you've hardly written anything bar the date," Alphard said, knuckles turning white as his hands pressed down harder on the desk.

Harry didn't answer, heart beating a mile a minute and breath hitching in his chest, twisting his head away so that his messy fringe hid his facial expressions. Luckily, Alphard didn't press, returning to his own work which consisted of doodling sharp spikes in the corner of his parchment. However, if the pressure Alphard was using on his quill was anything to go by, Harry was certain he wasn't the only unsettled one.

They didn't speak for the rest of the class, which, in its own way, terrified Harry more than if Alphard had continued to interrogate him. That, he supposed, was the basic difference between Slytherin and Gryffindor. If a Gryffindor had a problem with you, they were straight-up about it, whereas the Slytherins preferred much more subtle methods. Well, in this timeline at least – Harry would never exactly call Draco Malfoy and his two cronies subtle.

When Alphard finally spoke, Harry was only a single stride away from the door of freedom, his belongings almost spilling from his bag due to his hasty packing. "Tom wants to speak to you," he hissed in Harry's ear before pushing violently past him and slipping out of the classroom.

Somehow, those six simple words had more of an impact on Harry than any aspect of his previous conversation could ever have had.

* * *

The library was thick with silence, the smell of faded parchment heavy on the air. Before Harry's little escapade, he'd detested this part of Hogwarts with a resigned vengeance. It reminded him too much of nights slavering over books on breathing underwater, Hermione pestering him to revise for upcoming tests, Hagrid searching for books on how to raise a dragon. Now, however, he loved it, for the exact same reason. Those memories were the only things keeping him from losing his mind in this crazy new world.

It was the lunch period and Harry was sitting alone in the furthest corner, pouring over one of the time travel books, his stomach rumbling loudly. Okay, so maybe missing both breakfast _and_ lunch wasn't the best idea but now, especially after Alphard's message, he was more determined than ever to avoid Riddle. If the bastard wanted to speak to him, he'd have to find him first.

"Luxtor."

 _Seriously?_

With mounting trepidation, Harry slowly lifted his head up from his book, hesitant gaze fixing upon an elegant figure leaning up against a bookcase, arms loosely crossed over his chest and a smirk upon his face.

Harry was screwed. He was so so _so_ screwed.

"How's the nose, Riddle?" He sarcastically blurted out before he could gain control of his mouth. Had he said screwed? He meant dead.

"Fixed," the dark-haired teenager said casually with a one-shouldered shrug. "Thank you for your concern."

There was a brief stretch of silence in which azure and emerald clashed, both boys still and unmoving, refusing to back down. "What do you want?" Harry eventually said through gritted teeth, willing the flutter of fear in his stomach not to show on his face.

Smiling in a shark-like manner, Riddle tilted his head as if pondering his answer. "Well, Harold, that's a very general question. There are, naturally, a lot of things that I want, however, for the sake of the conversation I will pretend you were a little more direct. Right now, I merely want to fulfil my duty as a Slytherin prefect and inform you of an extracurricular activity here at Hogwarts that I believe will interest you."

Extracurricular activity? Didn't that sound friendly and completely non-evil. "Riddle," Harry replied sweetly. "If you had ever fulfilled your prefect duties without any ulterior motives, I would faint in amazement.

"Well then it's a good thing I'm here to catch you when you fall," Riddle said in that same polite tone of voice that simultaneously perfectly complimented the model student act and completely juxtaposed Riddle's real personality.

Again, the silence stretched though this time it was Riddle who shattered it. "Tomorrow at eight pm in the Great Hall there's a duelling club. I want you to attend."

"A duelling club," Harry repeated dubiously, a flashback of Lockhart sailing not-so-gracefully through the air making its presence known in his mind. "Why would you-"

"You really think you're more powerful than _me_ , Luxtor?" Riddle interrupted, smiling still but his gaze had turned icy hard. "Now's you chance to prove it."

A shard of uneasiness slipped into Harry's stomach, writhing and twisting, bringing a nauseous taste to his mouth. Riddle wanted them to duel, in front of the rest of Hogwarts if this duelling club was anywhere near as popular as the one back in his second year. Or, forward in his second year. That didn't even make sense. He hated time travel. "And what if I don't come?"

Riddle pushed off from the bookcase and walked deliberately toward him. He leaned over the desk Harry was sitting behind and reached up to grip Harry's jaw, tilting his head back so their eyes met, Riddle's briefly flickering to his lightening scar. "You will," he said softly, tone positively and absolutely certain. And damn it, Riddle was right. Harry would never turn down a challenge this obvious and direct, it would mean losing, accepting that Riddle had won, that he was the superior, the alpha. "I'll sort out the technicalities," Riddle continued, pushing his jaw away and standing up straight. "All you need to do is be ready."

"What happens if I win?"

This time, real humour made itself apparent in Riddle's features as his mouth curved upwards in a lazy grin and his eyes sparkled with mirth. Jerk. "I'll leave you alone," he said, voicing what he no doubt thought was Harry's strongest desire. "Permanently."

Harry nervously licked his lips, Riddle's confidence in his own abilities was unnerving, alarming, feeding the ball of queasiness knotting itself in Harry's stomach. So he hedged the question he definitely didn't want to hear the answer to, "what about if you win?"

That lazy grin became more pronounced as Riddle started to casually walk backwards away from him. "You sit with us – Lycoris, Abraxus, Alphard, Marius and I, that is to say – for breakfast everyday for two weeks."

Harry narrowed his eyes, searching the young Dark Lord's face for any sign of trickery, a loophole in the terms. But underneath all the usual masks of deception, he couldn't find anything. Deceit had to be tucked away somewhere, it _had_ to, yet Harry couldn't spot it.

"Fine," he said tightly, containing a weary sigh, knowing Riddle had left him with no other choice. And besides, what was the harm in breakfast? "Deal."

"Deal," Riddle agreed with a nod, shark-like smile returning as he stepped into the lurking shadows between two towering shelves. "Oh and Harold, go and get some lunch. You'll need your energy." And with that he melted away, darkness swallowing him whole.

Oh Merlin.

Harry was so dead.

* * *

"Tom!"

The echoing shout chased down the dungeon corridor after the retreating figure, bouncing loudly off the cold, stone walls. The figure didn't stop but it did slow, allowing the Slytherin who had shouted to catch up, ragged breath indicating that he'd been moving at a fast pace for a while.

"What is it, Alphard?" Came the reply, cutting a little sharper than was usual, causing the Black to lower his gaze sheepishly.

"I apologise for my outspoken behaviour but," Alphard looked up again, intently and desperately staring at the other Slytherin who was looking straight ahead, gaze yet to flicker to his new companion. "I needed to speak to you."

"I figured as much from your frequent attempts to catch my attention during Potions," Tom said dryly. "You might have been a little more obscure, Luxtor's observational skills aren't completely non-existent."

For a second, Alphard's footsteps faltered and colour rose to his pale cheeks, then he regained control and straightened up. "Actually, it's - it's about Luxtor, something he said this morning in History of Magic."

Tom's azure eyes flickered to Alphard momentarily, highlighting the first point in which the conversation had piqued his interest. "And what might that be?"

"He said..." Alphard faltered, nervously wetting his lips, causing Tom's line of sight to land directly on him, curiousness snagging on Alphard's strange reluctance to speak. "He said, 'I don't think your... your _lord_ would want you spreading rumours about him'."

This time it was Tom's footsteps which faltered, a rarity in itself. His full focus was now on Alphard who was refusing to look up from his shiny, black shoes. "Impossible," Tom breathed. How could Harold Luxtor, after only two nights at Hogwarts _possibly_ know what he himself hardly knew nor understood. "That's impossible," he said a little louder though no more certain.

"My Lord, I'm not-"

Tom silenced his companion with a single glare, face shadowed in the flickering light from a nearby torch. Quickly he drew his yew wand from his pocket, casting the Black an amused smirk when he flinched violently. But Tom only pressed the tip to Alphard's temple, the other freezing, breath harsh.

" _Legilimens_ ," Tom whispered, causing the dim corridor to suddenly flash a light blue. Alphard's eyes widened comically, reverting back to normal only when Tom removed the wand, a thoughtful look etched on his face.

"He knows me," Tom said slowly, tucking the pale wand into his pocket and beginning to walk again, gesturing for Alphard to follow, a command which was hastily obeyed. "I don't know how, I've certainly never seen him before, I'd remember. But Harold knows me."

"Dumbledore, maybe?" Alphard suggested, biting his lip and throwing Tom a wary glance, aware of the elder teenager's intense dislike of the esteemed professor. "He suspects you."

"Perhaps," Tom mused. "Though I doubt even the muggle-loving fool would suspect _that_ much. He's too forgiving, oblivious to what is right in front of him," Tom said disdainfully, upper lip curling in disgust. "It's possible, but unlikely."

"Then, what?" Alphard asked, clueless. "I mean, Luxtor could just be unusually perceptive, or grew up with auror parents so is really judgemental and-"

"No," Tom dismissed, shaking his head. "No, that wouldn't explain how he knew who I was from the first moment we met. Why he _hates_ me so much, or why it's personal."

"But," Alphard said, trying and failing to keep up with Tom's thought track. "Dumbledore could have-"

"No," Tom said harshly, his loud voice causing Alphard to flinch and shrink back. "Something else is going on here, Alphard," he continued much more softly, voice now a gentle lullaby. "And I want to find out what."

The pair approached the entrance to the common room in thoughtful silence, Alphard frequently glancing up at Tom, half in terror and half in admiration. Once Tom uttered the password and they entered however, their entire persona shifted, Tom's with a graceful, practised ease. His shoulders slumped slightly and his chin tilted down, appearing much more human than he had seconds before.

Briefly, his azure eyes flicked to the darkest corner, resting upon a lone figure sitting at a small table, a large volume open in front of him. Harold was the only one in the entire common room who hadn't looked up when he'd entered, a fact which Tom couldn't be sure if it was intriguing or infuriating. A mixture of both, perhaps.

Clearing his mind with a deep breath, he removed Harold from his immediate thoughts, for the time being. He and Alphard strode over to the rest of his group, already assembled in their normal seats by the fire. In regards to his other little project, there was still plenty to discuss.

 **A/N: Wow, getting this up took a lot of effort. After crashing on me several times, I think my laptop officially hates me. Hope you liked it and as always, thank you to all of you readers:)**


	6. Chapter 6

Harry tossed and turned all night, his hyperactive mind delving into the endless possible outcomes of the duel Riddle had planned. He was _almost_ positive the young Dark Lord wouldn't slip in any dark magic or life threatening spells due to the fact that the majority of Hogwarts would be watching, but it would be only too easy for Riddle to maim or kill him and pose it as an 'unfortunate accident'. One small tripping jinx and whoops... Harry fell and snapped his neck. What a shame.

Okay, so maybe he was overreacting just a little. Riddle didn't actually plan on killing him, otherwise he wouldn't of gone to the effort of creating the terms, but spending six long hours trapped in a dark room as the clock crawled by had done odd things to his brain.

Five thirty was the time Harry finally deemed it suitable to get up. Some normal students got up at five thirty, right? Taking extra care to be quiet, he pulled his robes over his head, accidentally attempting to shove his head through the arm hole in the darkness – he _really_ hoped none of the future Death Eaters had seen that - and slipped out into the common room.

At first, Harry thought the room was deserted, then he noticed a solitary figure sitting by the fireplace, quill skating across a sheet of parchment with elegant calligraphy. Riddle. Of course. The older boy's eyes flashed up as Harry entered and his lips momentarily curved upwards into a cruel smirk, then he looked back down as if nothing had occurred.

Harry wished the entrance to the Slytherin common room was a door so he could have slammed it shut behind him.

The nerves in his stomach viciously rebelling against food, he bypassed the Great Hall and headed straight to the library. This time, instead of continuing his so far pointless research on time travel, Harry grabbed an assortment of spell books in a fruitless attempt to gain an edge over the genius, super-powerful, cunning, evil, dangerous, vengeful, teenage Dark Lord. Huh. He should really stop thinking about it because the more he did, the more hopeless it all seemed.

By the time the clock chimed nine, the library was beginning to fill with a few other students, the majority of them seventh years trying to get a head start on their NEWT courses. Who else would want to be stuck in the library on this crisp September morning?

Harry sat staring at the heavy volume on his desk until the words began to blur and he was sure he hadn't turned the page in over half an hour. It seemed his grand total of five hours sleep over two nights had started its revenge.

But it wasn't as if it was _his_ fault he wasn't getting any sleep... No, technically it was Riddle's fault... Everything was Riddle's fault... How could everything not be Riddle's fault... Huh, all this thinking was making his head hurt... perhaps he should get that headache potion from the nurse... He could get a sleeping draught as well, now he thought about it... Ha. Draught... Draught was a funny word...

"Harold?"

Harry jumped, his head jerking up and very nearly ripping in half a page that had stuck to his face. "Hi?" He groaned, peeling his eyes apart, a job made difficult by the sticky sleep forcing his eyelashes to cling together. "Wass the time?"

"Two o'clock," came the reply. "You missed lunch."

Harry blinked hard and the face sitting opposite him swam into focus. A Hufflepuff with sandy blonde hair was raising his eyebrows at him in amusement which was most likely caused by Harry's messy hair sticking up in every direction. Ralph Timby – the boy he sat next to in Defence.

"What are you working on?" Ralph asked, taking a seat and peering over at the spell book. "We don't have a test or anything, do we? I haven't revised."

"Um, no," Harry said blearily, pulling his glasses off and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes in a vain attempt to wake himself up. "I was just looking up some spells. You know, for duelling or something."

"Oh right," the cheerful boy answered, shifting his chair around the desk to get a better look. "If you like duelling you should come to the duelling club tonight."

"Yeah that's already been recommended," Harry said tightly with a false smile, placing his glasses back on his face.

"By whom?" Ralph asked, frowning as he caught Harry's strained expression.

"Riddle."

"That's nice of him," Ralph said, smiling once more.

"Yep," Harry muttered, sarcasm colouring every inch of his tone. "Deep down inside Riddle is nothing but a sweet, kind-hearted, little boy."

Ralph leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankles and observing Harry quizzically. "I take it you dislike him."

 _You're right, I don't. Want to know why? He's an evil, cunning, powerful, sociopathic Dark Lord who grows up to commit mass genocide and murder my parents. Glad we cleared that up._ But all he said was: "we have our differences."

"Okay then," Ralph shrugged, dismissing the subject. Typical Hufflepuff. "Which spell do you want to learn?" He leant over again, pressed his eyes tight shut and jabbed a finger at a random spell. "This one looks cool."

"Aqua Eructo: fires a powerful jet of water from the tip of the caster's wand," Harry read, then frowned and peered around at the quiet library. "Might not want to practise that one in here."

As if on cue, both of the boys glanced up at the librarian a few shelves away, squinting through her rectangular glasses as she carefully polished the cover of an already pristine leather-bound book. Her sharp features in the dusty light made her appear just as scary, if not scarier, than Madam Pince – the hawk-like librarian from Harry's timeline.

"I'll agree with you there," Ralph whispered back, picking the up book and clambering to his feet, Harry following his lead.

The Hufflepuff and the Slytherin spent the next two hours in an abandoned classroom around the corner from the library, poorly aimed aqua eructo charms drenching both of them from head to foot. Lucky Hermione had once taught Harry the spell to dry clothes.

"I have to go," Ralph eventually said, flicking his sopping hair out of his face and checking a battered old watch on his wrist. "I promised I'd meet Jane at four."

"No problem," Harry said, wringing out the last of the water from his robes. "I'll go back to the library or something."

Ralph had one foot out of the door when Harry felt like the breath had been stolen from him as he was struck with a very sudden, very crucial point which he couldn't possible believe he'd ever forgotten. "Ralph!" He burst out, causing the other to spin around in the doorway. "Is there any chance we could swap wands for this evening?"

Ralph tilted his head, pale blue eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Why?"

"I can't exactly tell you," Harry said slowly, biting his lip. Please say yes. Please, please please say yes. "But it's really, _really_ important."

Ralph paused for a moment and Harry held his breath. "I guess," he consented, pulling his light-coloured wand from his pocket. "But... you won't harm it, right?"

"No, definitely not," Harry assured him hastily, thanking Helga Hufflepuff for her criteria of being helpful and friendly. An odd sense of nostalgic sadness clogged him up as they swapped, his holly wand slipping into Ralph's pocket. "Thank you," Harry said gratefully, shooting the Hufflepuff a small smile before picking up the spell book to head back yet again to the dusty library.

* * *

Eight o'clock rolled around far too quickly for Harry's liking. One moment he'd been pouring over a spell book in the library, borrowed wand in one hand and a cheese sandwich a sympathetic house elf had brought him in the other, and the next he was shifting his feet anxiously in the Great Hall along with a hoard of other students.

Jarringly similar to the duelling club in his second year, the house tables had been cleared and a large stage had been erected, brightly decorated in the four house colours. On it stood three professors.

Slughorn was bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet, beaming at the students as they milled around, chatting with their friends. Harry had doubts surrounding Slughorn's duelling ability, however good he may be at Potions. More than likely the professor was simply here to scout out new prodigies to add to his exclusive Slug Club. No thanks.

Merryweather, the aged Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, was engaged in conversation with Dumbledore, the third professor, whose ginger hair perfectly complimented the pink and gold robes he had chosen to don today.

Altogether, these three professors were much better adapted to the task of running a duelling club and controlling four hundred-odd students all armed with wands than Lockhart and Snape could ever be.

Harry glanced around at the gathered students, returning Ralph's relaxed smile when they caught eye contact. It was nice to know that not everyone in 1942 was pure evil.

Speaking of...

Riddle and his little entourage were grouped around the left end of the stage, Alphard and Marius joking loudly, Abraxas and Lycoris talking calmly and Tom observing Dumbledore carefully with narrowed eyes, blatantly ignoring the fluttering eyelashes of nearby girls. As Harry watched, Lycoris touched Tom's arm, appearing to inquire something of him. Tom glanced at Lycoris and nodded but in the process of turning back to look at Dumbledore, he caught Harry's eye from across the stage. Immediately, Harry stiffened and clenched his teeth, something which served only to amuse Tom for the teenage Dark Lord shot him that shark-like grin before his eyes flickered away again.

At that moment, Dumbledore coughed loudly, effectively drawing the attention of the assembled students. "Ahem. Welcome! Welcome everyone to our second duelling club meeting," - there were some cheers from the red and gold students at these words - "I'd like to introduce my fellow colleagues Professor Merryweather and Professor Slughorn who will be assisting us today. Last week we covered stunning spells, managing to attain ten concussions and three broken wrists along the way so this evening, we feel it would be prudent to teach you all how to block mild jinxes, curses and charms using protego, the shield charm."

Merryweather then stepped forwards, her cropped, discoloured hair glinting in the light from the hundreds of floating candles. "Everybody please raise you wand," she said crisply, doing so herself. "And say protego clearly and confidently."

" _Protego,_ " the entire hall chorused, silvery-blue shields conjured into existence here and there. Most students from the fifth year and up had managed it, Harry included, although the younger students (there weren't many below third year) were having some difficulty, hardly surprising as it was unlikely they'd ever performed the spell before. The three professors left the stage and moved through the crowd, correcting and assisting.

"Nicely done, Luxtor," Slughorn said, giving him a surprised nod of approval when he noticed Harry's shield which, despite using a borrowed wand, had turned out fairly powerful. Probably due to all the extracurricular practise he'd had with that spell.

"Excellent, excellent," Dumbledore joyfully exclaimed a little while later, stepping back up onto the stage. "Congratulations to you all. Now, the real trick of the matter is using it during a duel. Professor Slughorn, if you would."

Merryweather moved out of the way as the two professors bowed to each other, wands stretched out in front of them. "One, two, three, _stupefy._ " Dumbledore said.

" _Protego_ ," Slughorn countered and the stunner bounced harmlessly off the shield, shooting back towards Dumbledore who vanished it with a simple wave of his wand. A couple of the assembled students clapped and cheered.

"Settle down, settle down," Slughorn chided them playfully, still beaming. "Before we go about practising this in pairs, let's have a couple of older students show us how it's done within an actual duel."

It was as if a fiery ball of ice had dropped into Harry's stomach, writhing and twisting and making him feel like he were going to throw up. Riddle's small twitch of the lips did nothing to ease the sensation.

"Let's see," Slughorn continued, peering around at the students near him. "Tom?" Riddle shot his professor a wide, innocent and completely fake smile along with a nod and began to walk up onto the stage, drawing his yew wand. It may have been Harry's imagination but for a split second he thought he saw Slughorn's eyes slip out of focus. "And, Mr Luxtor?"

The crowd around Harry parted slightly, giving him room to walk to the stage, heart beat fast with mounting trepidation. In reality, the walk was over in a matter of seconds, but to Harry a walk had never lasted longer – except perhaps when his name had been ejected from the Goblet of Fire. _That_ walk may have lasted a good few hours.

Once up on the stage, Dumbledore patted his shoulder gently, wishing him good luck, although Harry thought the esteemed wizard sounded uneasy. Perhaps he too had noticed the hard satisfaction visible in Tom's eyes as they faced each other.

They both inclined their heads politely, neither boy too comfortable with the prospect of exposing their bare neck to the other. "On my count then," Slughorn exclaimed, remaining utterly oblivious to what was about to occur. "One..."

Riddle's azure eyes flashed up to meet his own emerald ones, the model student act slipping enough for Harry to glimpse the hidden malicious glee.

"Two..."

Both of the Slytherins subconsciously tightened their grip on their wands, muscles tensing, ready to spring into action.

"Three!"

Before Harry even had time to open his mouth to shout his first spell, a vivid beam of purple light was speeding towards him, yet Riddle hadn't uttered a word. How could he not have uttered a... Oh. Non-verbal magic. Great. Harry flung himself to the right, not knowing if a shield would be able to block the unknown spell. He'd hardly caught his breath before another spell was shooting at him, closely followed by another, and another. Somehow, he managed to dodge them all, thanking his Quidditch reflexes all the while.

" _Stupefy_ ," Harry shouted, forcing Riddle to halt his onslaught for a second and cast an easy shield. The red light ricocheted off over the heads of the wide-eyed students observing the duel in the same fashion as some tennis supporters Harry had once glimpsed Aunt Petunia watching on TV.

" _Stupefy_ ," Harry shouted again, aiming blindly as he dodged another incoming spell. " _Impedimenta, expelliarmus!_ " Something was wrong. The borrowed wand wasn't working properly. With every spell he cast, he was having to use more and more willpower, forcing the wand to obey. He aimed a glare at the stick but his momentary pause cost him. Another unknown spell whizzed close to his left shoulder, heat stinging his face and singeing his robes. Thank Merlin he hadn't been hit with that.

" _Tarantallegra,_ " Harry continued, frustration growing as Riddle lazily either vanished or blocked his spells, lips twitching into a smirk.

The teenage Dark Lord slashed his yew wand downwards, a brilliant orange ball of fire erupting from its tip and hurtling straight at him.

" _Aqua eructo,_ " Harry shouted on instinct, thanking his lucky stars that he and Ralph had come across that spell this morning. A jet of water flew from his wand, dousing not only the fireball but plenty of the nearby students in the crowd, all of whom shrieked and retreated backwards. Harry then turned the jet on a surprised Riddle, managing to dampen his pristine robes only a little before the other quickly conjured a shield, blocking the flow, his expression growing a shade darker.

" _Rictusempra,_ " Harry said, but the wand was starting to fight him more forcefully now, the powerful jet of water seeming to have been the last straw. " _Expelliarmus,_ " Harry desperately tried but the spell was hardly in the centre of the stage before it fizzled out into nothingness.

Riddle's eyes narrowed in evident confusion, before they landed on the wand in Harry's hands and widened. Oh joy. Now he'd probably be subjected to even more questions from detective Riddle.

Harry ducked another volley of spells sent in his direction, no longer confident with the strength of his shield. Unfortunately, the continuous avoiding and dodging was beginning to create a painful stitch in his side.

" _Stupefy_ ," Harry cried, " _expelliarmus, petrificus totalus._ " Riddle easily side stepped the flickering and slow moving spells with an air of distinct amusement. " _Rictusempra, herbifors, locomotor mortis!_ "

Harry's frustration was now boiling right beneath the surface, causing his fingers to tingle and his vision to haze. His breaths became more and more unsteady as he glared viciously at the teenage Dark Lord. He should've just used his own wand, consequences be damned. He bet an unexpected priori incantatum would've wiped the smirk from that arrogant face.

Riddle sent another spell at him, missing by mere millimetres as Harry squirmed out of the way at the last second. The borrowed wand was now shaking in his hand as he tried to force it to comply, to let him cast one more spell. Heat rushed to his cheeks. He probably looked so stupid right now, unable to perform even simple charms. He could almost hear the cackling laughter, or was that just a ringing in his ears? The tingling sensation was getting worse, rushing through his blood, pulsing through his veins.

Riddle looked close to laughter.

Harry snapped. He hardly knew, let alone understood what happened. In one fell swoop the tingling, feeling like icy pinpricks against his insides all swarmed to his right hand, exploding from the wand in a silvery haze of energy. The sheer power of it made him stagger backwards, left foot slipping off the side of the stage causing his head to smack stone and stars the flicker in front of his eyes. The faint screams around him made his cringe, eyes squinted against the harsh sound.

Dumbledore's concerned and crinkled face swam into focus above him just as the screechy ringing in his ears began to lessen. "Harold?" His future headmaster inquired and quite suddenly a firm hand was gripping his, hoisting him shakily to his feet. The moment he was released however, pain sparked up from his left ankle as it buckled under his weight, nearly sending him tumbling to the floor again. An icy hand shot out to grab him, latching onto his shoulder.

"Don't worry, I've got him," Riddle said, pulling Harry more firmly onto his feet and securely wrapping his arm around his waist, fingers digging in much harder than was necessary. Immediately Harry flinched away but the pain flaring from his busted ankle was joined with a stinging in his side as Riddle dug his nails in, preventing escape.

"Hospital wing, perhaps," came a deep, bumbling voice. Slughorn, Harry realised, glancing around him for the first time.

He, Riddle, Slughorn and Dumbledore were grouped near the stage, seemingly where he had fallen. The rest of the students were peering nosily at them, some of the younger years even standing on their tiptoes to get a better look. Harry tried really, _really_ hard not to stare at the wall Riddle had had his back to when they were duelling. He failed miserably. Part of the stone had been gouged away leaving a large crater in its place. Chunks of rock were scattered around at the foot of the wall where Merryweather was standing, Waving her wand in order to fix the damage. Had he caused that? How the hell-

"Accidental magic," Dumbledore said kindly, spotting where Harry was looking. "Nothing to worry about."

"On the contrary Albus my old friend," Slughorn burst in with a beam, expression quite delighted, "that was some very powerful magic indeed." He clapped Harry fatherly on the arm that wasn't clamped painfully into Riddle's side. Harry's inside sunk nastily. Oh crap. What had he done? Now Riddle would think he was a super powerful wizard and... and what? He had no idea but if Riddle's iron grip was anything to go by, it wouldn't be good.

"Why don't you come along to my office next Friday evening?" Slughorn suggested happily, as oblivious as ever. "Just a little dinner party with some of my other students."

"I'm sure Harold will be there, professor," Riddle politely cut in. "But right now I believe Harold should be going to the hospital wing," Riddle continued. "It's possible that he gained a concussion from his fall. I'd be all too happy to assure he gets there safely."

Of course. After all, Harry's safety must be Riddle's top concern.

"Oh certainly," Slughorn rushed, smiling at Harry with new found admiration and respect. _Great_. "Don't let me hold you up then, off you go boys!"

Riddle sent Slughorn one last angelic smile before starting to half drag Harry through the maze of students. Just as they were about to cross the threshold into the entrance hall, Harry twisted his head around one last time, eyes catching on Dumbledore's worried expression.

They walked in silence. Well, when Harry said walked, he meant Riddle striding and him trying to keep up on his busted ankle, the pain in every second step forcing him to cringe and nearly fall. Not once did Riddle's azure eyes flicker to him. They remained fixed on the horizon, icy and hard.

At least they were headed in the direction of the hospital wing, that managed to somewhat calm Harry's tense nerves. A weight in his robe pocket informed him that he still had Ralph's wand. He didn't remember placing it in there – perhaps Dumbledore had when he'd helped him up.

The two Slytherins were only three corridors away from the hospital wing when Riddle swiftly turned and forcefully swung open the door to an abandoned classroom, shoving him harshly inside. Feeling as if his ankle had been doused in fire, Harry overbalanced and fell.

Above him, Riddle clicked the door shut and turned around slowly, azure gaze hard and icy. "So," he said, lip curling upwards into a sneer that made Harry's blood run cold. "Do you want to tell me what the _hell_ that was?"

* * *

 **A/N: Yay! Exams are finished and it's now summer so that means more updates for you guys... cause, you know, I have no social life :D Joking. I do... kinda.**

 **So I got this review from a guest who called themselves HarryOrNotHarry and it literally made me grin solidly for a good hour, which actually made my cheeks ache so I wouldn't recommend it. But thank you for that! Also thanks to all the couple of reviewers who have reviewed pretty much every chapter - you make me so happy cause I know I'm not the only one who loves this story!**

 **Also for anyone who was wondering, our half-giant friend Hagrid will be making an appearence though he won't be a big part in the story.**

 **In other news, there's now a polish translation done by misqa so if any of you readers are polish and sre struggling through this, you can find that story on my favourites.**


	7. Chapter 7

_Above him, Riddle clicked the door shut and turned around slowly, azure gaze hard and icy. "So," he said, lip curling upwards into a sneer that made Harry's blood run cold. "Do you want to tell me what the_ hell _that was?"_

Harry's breath felt like a jagged knife in his lungs, ripping them apart from the inside as he stared, wide-eyed, at the boy who would grow up to murder his parents. "Magic?" He hedged, heart pounding hard against his chest.

Nope. Wrong thing to say.

Riddle's persona dropped a few degrees, his eyes narrowing into slits. "I'd noticed, funnily enough," he spat dryly, though nothing in his tone screamed funny. Riddle paused, then said, "how about we keep this simple?" He took a single step forward as Harry cringed in his position on the floor. "I ask the questions and you answer them. Truthfully."

Harry shifted backwards until his back was pressed against the cool wall. His fingers curled around the leg of an upside-down desk and he pulled himself unsteadily to his feet, clinging on the wall for support as pain shot through his ankle. "Yeah, don't think I agree to that, thanks," he muttered, eyes not once shifting from the door behind Riddle's shoulder.

Riddle smiled without mirth, observing him hungrily as he idly twirled his wand between his thumb and forefinger. "Whoever said I was giving you a choice."

Harry didn't reply, flicking the boy a nervous glance as his mind worked on overtime, desperately searching for a way out; preferably one that resulted in Riddle gaining no extra information.

Riddle extended a slim hand expectantly, seemingly decided upon his plan of action. "Can I see your wand?"

"No," Harry immediately retorted causing Riddle's eyes to briefly twitch in annoyance. "What?" He said defensively, pressing his back further into the wall. "You asked a question and I answered it, truthfully."

Riddle's false smile dropped. "Don't test my patience, Luxtor." There was a blinding flash of red light that nearly sent Harry tumbling back to the floor. Gasping, he straightened, eyes widening as he saw Riddle carefully inspecting Ralph's wand. Disarming spell. Crap. Now he was utterly defenceless.

"What's the core?" Riddle asked next, momentarily lifting his eyes from the wand to look at him.

Harry's heart sunk horribly. His mind was drawing a blank. Too happy that he'd managed to attain a wand, he'd forgotten to ask Ralph any questions about the wand itself. Now it seemed he was about to pay for the mistake. Okay, focus. The wand was most likely from Ollivander's meaning the core could only be dragon heartstring, phoenix feather or unicorn hair. He had a one in three chance, though knowing his luck, he'd get it wrong. "Unicorn hair," he guessed, trying to sound both confident and resigned.

Riddle continued his inspection of the wand, expression thoughtful as he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. For the briefest moment, Harry allowed himself a sigh of relief. A sigh which, regrettably, was short-lived.

Suddenly, Riddle shifted, directing Ralph's wand straight at his throat. "Wrong," he murmured softly, lips tugging slightly as his eyes sparkled oddly. "Dragon heartstring. I'd have thought the _true_ owner of this wand would have known that," he mocked. "So that leaves us with the question of who did you borrow it from?"

"I didn't borrow it," Harry said, somehow managing to keep his breathing steady as he tilted his head away from the tip of the intrusive wand. "It's mine."

An ugly expression flickered across Riddle's face, marring the charming handsomeness and revealing the monster beneath. "Tell the truth," he all but hissed, lip curling and teeth barred.

"No," Harry replied, one hand curling tighter around the desk leg to stop himself from falling. It might have been his imagination – in which case he didn't blame it considering the situation he was in was hardly normal – but he was positive the pain in his broken ankle was only getting worse, sapping on his strength.

"No," Riddle repeated dubiously, acting as though he'd never heard the word before in his life. He took a sharp step forward, causing Ralph's wand to protrude into the skin by Harry's collarbone. "Tell me," he said slowly, eyes burning brightly. "Or I'll make you."

Harry swallowed. What harm would it do, really, if he told Riddle who the wand belonged to? Unless Riddle then decided to go after Ralph. He hadn't had a problem targeting other people to get at Harry in the past, or, uh, future. "No," Harry said, more stubbornly this time. "I'm not giving you another person to play with. You'd injure them or kill them, just to spite me-"

In an instant, the model student mask flashed back up and Riddle smiled that innocent smile, the one that had the world fooled. "Would I do that, Harold?" Without warning the mask slipped and the ugly, inhumane expression returned. "Besides," he said with a nonchalant shrug. "I don't particularly care. You admitted to borrowing the wand, that's all I wanted to know."

What? He hadn't... Damn Riddle's mind games.

"So now all I need to know is why," Riddle said, his tone getting more and more fevered and aggravated. "Why use some random wand which wouldn't work for you when you could use your own and perform to your true standards. It appears entirely pointless."

Lie. He had to lie. If Riddle found out about the priori incantatum, he'd find out about the duplicate wands. Then he'd piece together the jigsaw puzzle and voilà, ruined future courtesy of Harry Potter. "I'm a Slytherin, Riddle," Harry started slowly, the words poison in his mouth. "I'm not dumb. We both know that if you lost, Slytherin house would be in uproar, something neither of us want. Using my own wand I - I would have been powerful enough to beat you and-"

Ralph's wand clattered to the floor as Riddle dropped it, hand fisting around the front of Harry's robes instead. "In order for there to be mutiny in Slytherin," Riddle hissed harshly, eyes strangely lit with a red gleam. "You would've had to beat me. Even with your own wand, Harold, however powerful you _think_ you are, I can assure you that it's nowhere near as powerful as me. You never had a chance."

For a second longer, Riddle glared before roughly shoving Harry away and spinning on his heel. "I told Slughorn I'd take you to the Hospital Wing, I may as well make sure you get there," he said crisply, all traces of Voldemort vanishing from his features. He paused in the doorway to wait as Harry, dumbstruck yet buzzing from the unbelievable feat that he'd lied to Riddle's face and somehow gotten away with it, scrambled to retrieve Ralph's wand from the floor.

Out in the relative safety of the corridor, Riddle hooked his arm around Harry and began to march him in the direction of the Hospital Wing once more. It was as if the conversation in the abandoned classroom had never occurred.

For a Saturday evening in which a hazardous duelling club was being run, the Hospital Wing was surprisingly empty. Minus a curtained bed at the far end, Harry and Riddle were the only occupants. A young witch with auburn hair who introduced herself as Madam Glade told him to sit quietly on a bed while she fussed around, gathering various potions and implements. His ankle had been fixed in an instant, the pain vanishing and allowing him to breathe properly, however Riddle had told the matron that he might have concussion so he was being forced to stay in the white-washed wing overnight for observation.

Riddle really was evil.

"Thank you for bringing him, Tom," the medi-witch gushed, returning to force-feed Harry something sickly and yellow that caused him to gag.

"It was no trouble," Riddle easily replied, shooting Harry a devilish grin from behind the matron's shoulder. "I'm simply doing my duty as a prefect."

"Of course," Madam Glade said, gesturing for Harry to lie down on the bed to rest. "We need more students like you," she simpered, returning to her office with one last kindly smile at Riddle.

Harry tried to cover his snort of laughter with a cough, causing Riddle's eyes to snap to him and narrow. "I'd fear for the world if there were more students like you," he muttered under his breath.

Unfortunately, Riddle heard him. "I'm curious as to what gave you that idea," he said, folding his arms and tilting his head. "Considering you've thought that from the moment we met."

Harry didn't answer, twisting around on his bed so his back was to Riddle. "Can you leave?" He asked grumpily. "I'm sure you have much better things to do than watch me sleep."

There was a pause, then the sound of retreating footsteps. Satisfied, Harry relaxed into the bed, sucking in a deep breath to calm his racing heart.

"Oh and Harold," Riddle called softly, pausing in the doorway to look back over his shoulder. "You'll be joining us for breakfast tomorrow morning."

"What!" Harry exclaimed furiously, turning around so fast that he became tangled in the bedsheets and nearly crashed to the floor. "But you didn't win the duel!"

Riddle smirked at him in apparent amusement. "Last man standing," he said, turning and pulling the door closed behind him.

Having no insufferable git to glare at, Harry turned his venomous gaze onto the innocent ceiling, hands clenching at his sides. Why was it that Riddle had to be a jerk as well as a Dark Lord? And why did Harry have to be stuck with him? It wasn't fair. None of it was.

He lay there fuming into the early hours of the morning, mind too active to succumb to sleep. It was only once he started to relax that he suddenly realised something that made his insides squirm in discomfort. When he'd told Riddle he would have beaten him using his own wand – a lie, naturally – the teenage Dark Lord hadn't laughed.

* * *

The Slytherin common room hummed in a quiet melody of conversation, providing the perfect lullaby for Lycoris to fall asleep to as he poured over one of his History of Magic textbooks. He'd always held a certain abhor for the subject, the syllabus proving to be equally as boring as the professor who taught it. Who cared which dumbly named goblins participated in which fruitless wars? They all ended the same. Plenty of bloodshed and no conclusion, similar to a bad horror novel.

Lycoris had his legs curled up underneath him, head leant against the back of his chair to scan the crisp page with the bright light of the fire. Repeatedly he was having to push back the same single strand of ash brown hair which kept falling loose from his neat hairstyle and swinging into his eyes, obscuring his vision. Not that he minded too much, in his opinion, the less he could see of the blasted book the better.

Currently he was the only one of Tom's group sitting in their circle of armchairs, the other four stretched shadowed and empty. Abraxas had disappeared into the dormitories moments before the clock stroke ten, wishing for an early night. Marius had buggered off with some girl – Lycoris never kept track of their names – and Alphard had stayed behind at the duelling club to speak to Slughorn about the potions essay due for next Tuesday though it had been nearly an hour and he still hadn't returned.

The familiar grinding noise of stone against stone caused Lycoris to jerk his head up to stare at the entrance, hoping against hope the one to walk through would be Tom, not another tiny first year. He wouldn't say he was worried about his leader necessarily – Tom could easily handle his own affairs – it was more that he was worried about what Tom might do. Lycoris hadn't liked the expression on Tom's features when he'd left with the Luxtor boy, he personally knew how far Tom's temper could stretch.

But his hopes were only mildly satisfied. It wasn't Tom who entered; it was Alphard Black.

The boy loped over with the casual elegance only a pureblood could perfect and sunk into his normal chair between Lycoris and the fire. The black-haired boy gave one glance at the textbook in Lycoris's slim hands before groaning hugely and sinking a few inches further into the plush emerald material.

"Let me guess, you'd forgotten we had to read chapter fourteen," Lycoris said dryly, tearing his eyes away from Alphard and training them back on the minuet print.

"Was I that obvious?" Alphard replied grumpily, covering his eyes with his hands and abandoning his usually refined posture for a hunch. "Anyway, I doubt Binns will even notice, it's not as if he can probe my memory to see if I've read the chapter or not, ghosts can't hold wands."

"No," Lycoris said slowly, peeking over the top of his book to raise an eyebrow at his companion. "But ghost professors can still set tests to see if you've retained the information and when you get the answers all wrong, he'll know and give you a detention."

Alphard gave another load groan. "Alright Mr Sunshine, thanks for ruining my brief moment of happy obliviousness." He let a large breath whistle past his teeth then glanced over at the heavy textbook as if it were an explosive device. "Well I'd only get a detention," Alphard hedged. "It's not like I care about them-"

"Tom does," came Lycoris's stern reply. "It brings down our group image. Plus, you've already had one this month for skipping Charms two weeks ago, he wouldn't be happy."

"Okay, okay," Alphard cut him off, throwing his hands in the air. "I get it... I really do, but..." He frowned at the book again. "Couldn't you just tell me what the chatper's about?"

"Goblins," Lycoris answered distractedly, turning the page despite the fact that he hadn't absorbed a single slip of information in the last twenty minutes.

"Helpful," Alphard muttered to himself. "Everything's about bloody goblins and their millions of wars. Honestly, the creatures wonder why they aren't allowed wands! They'd accidentally destroy the world or expose magic, probably killing a load of wizards along the way..."

The two boys sat there in silence for a while longer, the pages of Lycoris's book rustling slightly and Alphard occasionally letting out a string of quiet complaints about goblins, History of Magic and Professor Binns.

"Hey, Lycoris," Alphard finally said after half an hour had passed and still Tom was yet to return from his expedition. "Can I ask for your advice on something?"

Hesitantly and with narrowed eyes Lycoris lowered his book, gazing at the Black with mounting suspicion. "Why is it that every time you ask me that, the next thing that comes out of your unstoppable mouth is something insane?"

Alphard shrugged without providing a witty response, something which triggered warning bells in Lycoris's head. "You know Lucretia," Alphard began, nodding in the direction of a pretty, blonde fifth year sitting and chatting with a friend in one of the corners of the common room.

"Your second cousin, yeah," Lycoris said slowly, not liking the direction this was headed in.

"There's an arranged marriage between us," he said, staring into the flickering flames. "My parents told me over the summer holidays."

"Oh," Lycoris said in surprise, letting the book drop into his lap and sitting up a little straighter. "Um, congratulations." But at noticing Alphard's downcast expression he faltered, tilting his head. "Or, not congratulations?"

Alphard shrugged again, frowning and entwining his fingers in the smooth material of his robe. "I don't know." He looked back up at Lycoris, swishing his long black locks out of his face. "We're second cousins, don't you think that's peculiar?"

"Not exactly," Lycoris said, unable to grasp at Alphard's point. "Mother and Father are _first_ cousins, consider yourself lucky."

"But look at Tom," Alphard persisted. "His parents weren't directly related and look how he turned out."

Lycoris frowned at him. "What? So you're saying you're going to run off with a mudblood?"

"No!" Alphard retorted, his lip curled in revolution. "God forbid no. I simply mean, surely there's some pureblood here who's not quite as closely related to me as Lucretia is."

"Alphard," Lycoris sighed, uncurling his legs from underneath him. "Forget these foolish notions, do as your parents say and go ahead with the marriage. It's the best chance you have."

"I guess," Alphard consented though no part of his faraway expression appeared convinced.

"See," Lycoris said, shaking his head with an attempt of humour. "Every time you want my advice, you say something insane."

Alphard's lips tugged and he gave a half hearted laugh though before he could reply, the grinding of the Slytherin entrance cut him off.

Lycoris knew it was Tom simply from the small hush that descended upon the common room before the audio gradually ascended again. The tall boy marched toward them, robes billowing and eyes burning with a feverish excitement that made Lycoris and Alphard bolt upright in their armchairs.

"What happened?" Alphard exclaimed almost before Tom had entered their enclosed circle of chairs, all leftover emotions from their previous conversation wiped clean in a instant.

Tom sank onto his chair, a devilish grin playing on his lips as his azure eyes flickered between the two of them. "It's open," was all he said.

* * *

 **A/N: What's open, I hear you ask? You'll just have to wait and see. Or you could work it out... it's not too hard. I'm sorry this chapter took a little longer to come out. I was planning to update last weekend but I hadn't finished writing and then I went away Monday-Friday with no laptop and no wifi... I don't know how I survived.**

 **So you guys keep up your little jobs of following, favouriting and reviewing and I'll keep up my job of writing, okay?;) Love ya all:)**


	8. Chapter 8

Heads turned, exactly as they used to do back in his own time. People swivelled in their seats to stare as Harry wandered over to the Slytherin table, hands pressed deep into his robe pockets and eyeline firmly fixed on the flagged-stone floor. This time was different, however. His fame didn't come from being the boy-who-lived. No, it came from being the boy-who-accidentally-blasted-a-hole-in-the-Great-Hall.

What a wonderful title.

Despite arriving at breakfast early for a Sunday – about 8 o'clock – the hall was fairly busy, early morning wakers milling about, chewing on toast and chatting to friends. And of course, slap bang in the middle of the green clad table was Riddle, surrounded by his little entourage.

Harry's stomach knotted with dread. It would have been all to easy to have taken the cereal Madam Glade had offered him and stayed as far away from the Great Hall as he could, probably perched on top of the astronomy tower, or hidden deep within the forbidden forest. But a deal was a deal, no matter how unfairly Riddle twisted the cards.

That decision was seeming worse and worse the closer he got to Riddle's smug face, casually observing him from over a steaming cup of tea.

Taking one final breath to steady himself, Harry sunk into the seat between Marius Lestrange and Alphard Black, directly across from Riddle.

The hiss of fresh gossip raced around the hall like wildfires.

Yes, Harry thought irritably, glaring down at his plate through the pregnant silence that had descended upon the small group. Harold Luxtor did just join Tom Riddle, the genius prefect he had viciously duelled last night, for breakfast-

Oh. _Oh._

"You bastard," Harry spat, jerking his head up to stare down the teenage dark lord, still drinking his damn tea. How could he have been so stupid? Riddle's plan: to beat him – the new boy who'd single-handedly threatened to oppose Riddle's entire empire – in front of the whole school, then the next morning he was seen to join Riddle for breakfast, 'succumbing' to him. It was genius. If it wasn't so bloody annoying. "You absolute bast-"

"Bacon?" Riddle offered, placing his cup on the table and sweetly pushing a golden plate laden with the delicious meat towards him.

Harry blinked. "I'm not hungry," he automatically replied, taken aback at the sudden change in conversation, though Riddle's meaning was clear: not now.

"Nonsense," Riddle said, his azure eyes glittering with silent amusement. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

"Yeah, well," Harry said, trying to ignore the group of death eaters whose eyes flickered between each of the two boys like they were watching a tennis match. "Maybe I don't like bacon. I could be a vegetarian for all you know."

"You're not," Riddle said.

"And how would you know that?"

Riddle leaned back in his seat, posture positively oozing confidence, maintaining the eye contact between them. "You ate the coq au vin we had for dinner on Friday."

"Doesn't mean I like bacon."

"Bacon is an ingredient," Riddle said, lips tugging into a smirk that only grew wider at Harry's venomous expression. "Oh, I'm sorry, hadn't you realised? I assumed you had, judging from the way you wolfed down that dinner so fast I was afraid you hadn't eaten in a week. Though I do apologise for tipping your whole bacon-despising regime on its head. I hope you can forgive me."

So, naturally, Harry didn't have the bacon.

Pretending the yolk of his egg was Riddle's face, he moodily stabbed it with his fork, frowning as the goopy yellow liquid pooled on his plate. The future Death Eaters gradually unfroze, starting on their breakfast again now that the Tom Harry duel appeared to be over.

"What are we up to today?" Marius asked, pushing a hand through his curly black hair and cutting up a sausage with the other. His voice may have held a light-hearted tone, but the uneasiness remained laced beneath it. Were they always this way around their 'lord', or was it because he was here, messing up the system?

"I need to complete my Potions essay," Lycoris said, buttering a slice of toast. "And Alphard needs to read the chapter for History of Magic-"

"No I don't," Alphard protested around a mouthful of sausage.

Abraxas's face twisted into one of the utmost revolution. "I thought Blacks were raised to have impeccable table manners," he said, raising a perfect eyebrow in disgust.

"And I thought Malfoys were raised to be impeccably polite," Alphard retorted, stormy grey eyes flashing.

Abraxas leant forward, decreasing the distance between himself and the Black. "How could anyone be polite when forced to sit across from you at the dinner table? _Everyday_."

"I only count it as payback for the stench your hair-care products leave in the bathro-"

"Do be quiet, you two," Lycoris groaned. "I can't have a headache this early on in the morning without so much as attempting my homework."

"Yes sir," Alphard mocked under his breath while Abraxas relaxed his previously offensive posture, his expression displaying disappointment. An expression that vanished the second Abraxas caught Harry's curious glance.

Breakfast continued this way for a little while longer, the death eaters exchanging somewhat friendly remarks, Harry playing with his egg and Riddle drinking his tea, his intense gaze resting on Harry.

"Are you planning to eat that egg or are you going to continue to deface it until it becomes nothing more than a pile of mush?"

For once the verbal assault came, not from Riddle, but from Marius. Harry looked up just in time to catch the sharp look Lycoris threw at his friend.

"I don't like eating while I'm being stared at," Harry said, fixing Riddle with a pointed glare.

The corner of Riddle's mouth pulled upwards in a smirk before he finally looked away, picking up his knife and fork.

Ignoring the churning of his stomach, Harry placed the tiniest amount of egg in his mouth.

He immediately wished he hadn't.

" _Kill..."_

The egg caught in his throat, forcing him to cough and splutter.

" _Let me rip... tear..."_

It was the voice. The same bone-chilling, murderous voice that had haunted him for the majority of his second year. The voice of the basilisk. His breath hitched in his throat, mind slipping into overtime. 1992. 1942. Fifty years ago. Riddle's diary. Holy sh-

"Harold?"

Riddle and the death eaters were all staring at him.

"Sorry," he said horsely, perched on the verge of a panic attack. The chamber of secrets. No. No no no. Not on top of everything else. "I just chocked, I'm fine now."

"Are you sure?" Riddle said, suspicion present in his eyes. "You look rather pale."

Parseltounge. He'd heard the basilisk. Crap. Riddle could never discover they shared that gift. As far as the teenage dark lord knew, only descendants of Salazar Slytherin were blessed with it. Should Riddle find out some very interesting questions might arise.

"Don't worry, I'm fine," Harry muttered, hastily scooping the remainder of his egg into his mouth and clambering to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Riddle asked sharply.

"The library," Harry answered, swinging his bag onto his shoulder. "I've finished my breakfast."

"You hardly had any breakfast."

"Great," Harry said, turning and beginning to walk away. "I'm glad you care so much about my eating habits." Without a backwards glance he marched straight towards the exit, ignoring the whispers that chased him, the product of his new fame. Oh he really hadn't missed this.

He'd almost made it to the door when he was ambushed, though thankfully by a much more welcome student.

"Harold. Hey, Harold!"

Harry turned to see Ralph, sandy hair bobbing as the Hufflepuff jogged towards him, a smile on his face.

"Hi," Harry returned, a quick glance over his shoulder informing him that Riddle still had him under direct scrutiny.

"Do you mind if we switch wands back now?" Ralph asked. "It's just I have to practice a spell for transfiguration and your wand doesn't work for me."

The feeling of Riddle's gaze caused the hairs to raise on the back of his neck and a shiver to race down his spine. He nodded, pulling Ralph's wand from his pocket and gladly receiving his own in return. Despite the fact Riddle now knew whose wand he had borrowed, it was reassuring to be in possession of a wand which could protect him.

"Thanks," Ralph said with a grin. "Also congratulations on the duel, I've never seen anyone last that long against Tom Riddle! And that spell you used which blasted a hole in the great hall? That was some seriously impressive magic-"

"Yes I think we're all impressed with Harold's hidden talents."

Harry clenched his teeth in annoyance. Had Riddle somehow found a way to apparate within the school wards because he definitely had a talent for appearing at unexpected and unwelcome moments.

"Uh, yeah," Ralph stuttered, his eyes going wide for a moment, smile freezing on his face. Apparently 'King Riddle' didn't often speak to the commoners. "Um, I'll see you around, Harold." Ralph gave one last unsure smile before quickly returning to his own table and gob-smacked group of friends.

Harry swiftly span on his heel and briskly exited the Great Hall, heart sinking when he heard a second pair of footsteps join his own.

"So that's where you got the wand," Riddle said, taking a few long strides to catch up with him. "I had wondered-"

"Leave Ralph alone," Harry said through gritted teeth, his fists clenching at his sides.

Riddle laughed, the sound deep and rich, echoing slightly as they turned into a corridor toward the library, leaving the entrance hall behind. "Don't fret, Harold, I have no interest in him," Riddle dismissed, shaking his head. "It's you I want."

Harry clenched his fists even tighter, the knuckles turning white. "Because you'd _never_ hurt other people to get at me."

"Perhaps in dire circumstances," Riddle consented with a nonchalant shrug. "Though, it's much more fun doing things the hard way."

"Fun?" Harry repeated, voice shaking in anger as his insides writhed. "This is all some _sick_ game to you, isn't it?"

Riddle shot him a sideways glance, expression unreadable. Not that that was anything unusual, Riddle's expression was always unreadable, unless he wished it to be otherwise. "I'm simply curious," he said. "Everything about you is a mystery, Harold, a conundrum I can't help but want to solve." Riddle paused, his hands slipping into his pockets and eyeline fixed ahead as they walked. "We know each other. Or, rather, you know me. I honestly believe I've never met you before, which makes no sense considering all the personal hate you feel for me. Perhaps I have history with a relative or close friend of yours? That would explain the majority of your behaviour, though that's only a theory, unless you'd care to enlighten me?"

"Why would I?" Harry asked, the dull ache in his arms forcing his hands to uncurl. "You said yourself you prefer the hard way."

An amused smile graced Riddle's handsome features, his eyes sparkling brightly. "If you were anyone else you'd be sincerely regretting your comment right now."

Harry snorted under his breath. "So I'm not just anyone else?"

"No, Harold, you're not," Riddle said, twisting his head to look at him again. "See, I think I actually like you."

"That's cute," Harry said dryly. "If only I liked you too we could be best friends. Such a shame that's never going to happen."

"Don't try to predict the future," Riddle warned with a smirk. "Divination is nothing but guesswork and theatrics. It'll get you nowhere in life."

Harry didn't reply (and not just because he found himself agreeing with Riddle's latter statement). He let the conversation die, silence drifting in to take its place. What Riddle had said about the future had caused a memory to stir, the one and only clue he had about getting back to his own timeline. Well, if the prophecy he'd heard the night Riddle had interrogated him about Sirius concerned him at all. But that line, _saved by love,_ seemed all too familiar...

The sudden pause in the second pair of footsteps caused Harry to retune back in to reality. Blinking, he realised they'd arrived at the library already, the heavy wooden door halting their progress.

"Aren't you going in?" Riddle prompted, folding his arms, leaning back against the stone wall and tilting his head in the door's direction.

"Aren't you?" Harry shot back.

"No, I've already completed my homework," Riddle answered with a smirk. "I only came along for the ride."

Harry shrugged though inside his spirits were soaring at the news the his personal stalker wouldn't be breathing down his neck as he worked. He pushed the door open and crossed the threshold letting it swing back into Riddle's smug face without so much as a goodbye. Riddle didn't deserve such niceties, the bastard.

* * *

As soon as the door to the library closed, Tom's false smile dropped like a stone in water.

It had been five whole days since Harold Luxtor had first graced them with his presence and all he had offered up so far were zero answers and endless questions. Nothing about the boy made sense. Nothing. And now, thanks to Tom's moment of rashness last night, there was now a basilisk running loose about the school. A moment he'd been breathlessly waiting for for six years ruined by Luxtor.

Tom span away from the library and marched up to the forth floor, taking some satisfaction from the way that the younger students skirted around him. Tom Riddle the model student wasn't frightening, necessarily, but he still had a certain demeanour about him, one which demanded respect.

The particular corridor of which he was headed was nothing special. A blank stretch of stone wall on one side and a long line of widows overlooking the vast lake on the other. No, the only thing special about this meeting place was that it was one of the only corridors in the entire castle (minus several of the secret passageways) which had no portraits on the wall. It was the perfect place to go when you didn't want to be seen.

Tom had been waiting for little more than five minutes when a blonde Slytherin suddenly appeared, seemingly from nowhere, right by his side. Tom lips curved upwards in a satisfied smile.

"I did it," Abraxas said eagerly, holding up both hands so that Tom could clearly see the three roosters, pathetic in death.

"Excellent work," Tom said causing Abraxas to beam. "May I ask how?"

"Killing spell from a distance coupled with a summoning charm," Abraxas said with a casual shrug.

"And no one saw?"

Abraxas raised an eyebrow. "Who am I, Marius?"

"Well done, Abraxas," Tom praised, pulling out his long, yew wand from his robe pocket and waving it over the both of them. Without a sound, they vanished – from sight that is. While Abraxas's disillusion spell had been done well, if one looked close enough a blurry outline could be spotted. Tom's meanwhile worked as well as an invisibility cloak.

Careful to tread lightly lest they be caught, the two boys made their way to an empty second floor corridor. The majority of the school were still at breakfast, resulting in the nearby girl's bathroom to be eerily abandoned.

"Shouldn't we be doing this, you know, _not_ in the middle of a Sunday?" Abraxas asked hesitantly, his voice hushed.

"We're not," came Tom's disembodied voice from some way to Abraxas's left. " _I'm_ doing it tonight. I needed the roosters killed before my basilisk was. I should've done it earlier but... I became distracted- here."

Tom's yew wand caused the door of the broom cupboard to momentarily glow a blinding white, lines criss crossing the wooden surface before they faded, signalling the privacy wards had been placed. The door was opened by a disembodied hand then a muffled thump was heard as three suddenly visible carcasses were deposited by the mops and brooms.

The boys waited until they were well on their way to the Slytherin common room before removing the disillusion charm, permitting their faces to be seen again.

"About Luxtor," Abraxas began once they'd reached the musty dungeons, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his robe. "He's exceptionally suspicious of us, isn't he? So, er, you, um-"

"Spit it out Abraxas."

Abraxas took a breath then said, "do you think he'll suspect us?"

Riddle absently chewed on his lower lip, not willing to admit that that exact thought had been nagging him all night long. "Yes," he admitted, injecting nonchalance into his voice.

Abraxas nodded, expression equally as worried, though his voice was brisk and business-like, one of the reasons Tom preferred the Malfoy heir over most of his other cronies. He could always hide his emotions. "Then what do we do?" Abraxas asked. "Petrification is always an option-"

"It's not," Tom said, a little sharper than intended. "Until I get my answers from him, he's under my protection, understand?"

"Of course," Abraxas said, the words tumbling out of his mouth. "I simply meant, if there was no other option..."

"There's always another option," Tom stated firmly. "Besides, he's the new boy in town. Who is Dippet most likely to believe, him or me? Trust me, Abraxas, no one would believe a word out of his mouth." Aside from Dumbledore, the professor who, exactly like Harold, had managed to peel back Tom's masks. But those words went unspoken, not even Abraxas daring to utter them.

It was Dippet's judgement which mattered when it all came down to it, and thankfully Tom had him wound tightly around his finger. There was nothing Harold could do to ruin this. No way in hell.

If only Tom wasn't trying to convince himself.

* * *

 **A/N: Phew, so happy I managed to get this out:) I'm going on holiday tomorrow without my laptop and I was terrified you'd all have to wait four weeks for an update. I try to keep make sure I don't go over three. As usual, thanks for the support, it makes everything so worthwhile XD**


	9. Chapter 9

By the time Harry was finally kicked out of the library, the sun had long set and the night sky had turned a murky blue, the moon and stars hiding behind layers of thick cloud. His bag was heavy on his shoulder, stuffed to the brim with books about how time travel was impossible, how time travel couldn't exist and how time travel would never ever happen.

How was his luck so bad that he was stuck somewhere where even hourly time travel was only just entering the theory stage? Oh and not to mention the fact that he was stuck with the teenage version of his parents' murderer. Maybe he'd swallowed some kind of anti Felix Felicis as a baby...

Shifting his bag higher up on his shoulder, Harry crossed the entrance hall, making for the descending staircase that would take him down to the dungeons when a sudden flash of fuchsia robes caught his eye. He span around.

"Professor," Harry called, chasing after his headmaster-to-be.

Dumbledore halted, turning to look gravely at him, long auburn hair shining in the flickering torchlight. "Harold, what are you doing out of your common room?"

Harry pulled up short, a little confused. "I'm going there now, Professor, I was in the library researching time travel but the librarian kicked me out so I could get back before curfew and-" The look on Dumbledore's face stopped him in his tracks. "What's happened, Professor?"

"It would be best if you returned to your common room," Dumbledore told him. "Professor Slughorn will explain."

"Explain what?" Harry asked slowly, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach.

"Now, Luxtor," Dumbledore said, his tone harsh and carrying non of the amiable lightness it was famous for.

"Okay," Harry said with a frown, turning around to head back across the hall. He was only halfway however before he paused. "Sir, have you made any progress with the box?" He asked, referring to the small black cube that had brought him here.

"No," Dumbledore said, and it was only then Harry noticed the calculating expression on his headmaster's face. "No, I'm afraid I haven't."

Harry nodded, trying not to let disappointment show on his face. "I'll see you tomorrow in Transfiguration then, sir," he said, carrying on his way to the Slytherin common room before he could catch any more haunting glimpses of Dumbledore's odd expression.

Typically the dungeons were cold, but this evening they felt damn near freezing. Harry didn't know if that meant the last of the summer warmth that usually hung around until the end of September had finally vanished or if it was due to the growing hollowness in his stomach. Something had Dumbledore worried and, most unfortunately, Harry had an awful suspicion as to what it may be.

" _Blood_ ," he stated, his voice echoey and loud in the corridor as the stone wall slid sideways, revealing the snake pit behind.

Harry stepped over the threshold, then immediately wished he hadn't.

The entirety of Slytherin house were assembled, the luckier ones (including the mini Death Eaters) had snagged seats while the others (mostly the younger years) were forced to stand, clumped together around the edges of the stone room. Slughorn stood in the centre, mid speech, with the tall, handsome and psychopathic sixth year Prefect beside him.

The moment Harry walked in, everyone's eyes swivelled to him.

Harry froze.

"Harold, my dear boy," Slughorn boomed, effectively breaking the unnatural stillness that had descended over the room. "Where have you been?"

"Um, in the Library, sir," Harry answered, taking a small step forward as the stone wall slid shut behind him.

"Very well, very well," Slughorn said cautiously, his expression unreadable. From Slughorn's other side, the corner of Riddle's mouth lifted up in a smirk as they made eye contact, then his attention snapped once more on their head of house.

Slughorn cleared his throat and the gathered students reluctantly turned away from Harry who immediately sunk out of the limelight and moved closer to a group of fourth years. "While I can assure you that no Chamber of Secrets has ever been discovered in this school," Slughorn said, confirming Harry's fears. "Linda Davies was still attacked by someone or something, and that attacker is currently roaming unchecked around the castle. I'm afraid to announce that Hogwarts is no longer safe." Slughorn paused to bounce nervously on his toes, peering around at his fearful students. "I don't believe a single one of you capable of attempted murder" - Harry fought hard not to cough 'Riddle' under his breath - "but if anyone has any information whatsoever, I request they inform a prefect or member of staff immediately."

Harry's heart sunk horribly. So the Chamber had been opened, and, judging on who the heir was, he'd need to snag a handheld mirror as soon as possible.

All of that, however, left him in a very awkward dilemma. He knew where the chamber was, how to get in, what was in there and who the heir was. But, if he spilled … the events that took place in his second year would never have happened, Myrtle would never have died, Hagrid would never have been expelled, events wouldn't have panned out as they did in his third year therefore having an effect on Sirius and whether Harry thought he was innocent, not to mention what it could do to how Riddle handled the first war if he was expelled now and...

Basically? He could destroy the future.

"Anyone?" Slughorn pleaded, but there was no answer, Harry keeping his head down and eyeline on the floor. Maybe he'd talk to Dumbledore after Transfiguration tomorrow. "I expect to see you all bright and early in the Great Hall for breakfast, ready for your lessons," Slughorn said, looking at least a little bit like the thought of a full English had cheered him up. "We won't let an attack ruin our school schedule." And with a last shaky attempt at a jovial smile, the short man in the plum robes departed.

"Well," a burly fifth year said, jumping up from the emerald green chair he'd been lounging on as soon as the wall slid closed. "Come on, who was it? Own up, we wanna congratulate you. That Davies was a right little mudblood _freak_."

His statement was followed by a few jeers and catcalls from the rest of the fifth year group, but other than that, silence, Riddle and his gang watching from the sidelines with an air of distinct amusement.

"What?" The same fifth year asked, throwing his hands up and turning around in a circle to smirk at his house mates. "No one? What about one of you ickle first years?" He stared down the tiny group of eleven year olds, all of whom shrank back in fright. "One of your daddies gave you the key and you though it would be a funny to let the monster loose." The fifth year laughed then turned his back on them. "Or how about... You."

Harry's head shot up the see the fifth year leering at him. "I'm sorry, what?"

"C'mon," the boy said, starting to advance towards him. "It can't be a coincidence that you show up out of the blue with a surname no one's ever heard of and five days later there's an attack. For all we know your _real_ surname could be Slytherin-"

"Sorry to disappoint," Harry said, eyeing the boy warily. "But my _real_ surname is Luxtor."

"And from what you did to the Great Hall," the fifth year carried on, whistling through his teeth while blatantly ignoring Harry's objections. "I bet you've got enough power to control a monster-"

"Rosier." The second his name left Riddle's mouth, the fifth year froze, his face twisting before he composed himself. "Sit back down," Riddle ordered and without another word Rosier strutted back to his seat though his eyes didn't leave Harry.

"Luxtor," Riddle said, giving him his polite, well rehearsed Prefect expression, somehow reminding Harry of Percy. "Is there anything you wish to tell me?"

Oh it was so _so_ tempting to ask Riddle if a basilisk was good company or to scold him for entering a girls' bathroom. "No, nothing," Harry said, shaking his head. Then, unable to himself, added, "but even if I did know something, I highly doubt I'd go to you. I'd actually want my information to reach the professor's ears."

"What are you insinuating?" Riddle said, tone still polite but now threaded with a dangerous undercurrent.

Harry shrugged, tightening his grip on his shoulder bag. "You're a Slytherin, aren't you? Work it out."

Riddle tilted his head and a small smile fell across his lips. "Why is it you always assume the worst of me?"

"Usually because you always act like the worst of you," Harry bit back.

"Come now, Harold," Riddle smoothly replied. "We both know that's not true."

"Do we?" Harry said, then paused, taking a breath to clear his head. The whole of Slytherin were staring at the two of them, wide eyed. Dammit. He always became so completely oblivious when he and Tom spoke, unable to pay attention to the rest of the world. It was probably unhealthy. "Maybe now isn't the best time to have this conversation," he said, moving closer to the door that led off to the boys' dormitories. It wasn't as if he liked being alone with Riddle, in fact, he hated it, but at least when it was just the two of them, Riddle dropped his more noticeable masks, acting more like the Voldemort Harry knew instead of the perfect prefect.

"I beg to differ," Riddle said and to Harry's shock, drew his wand. "Now is the perfect time to have this conversation."

Behind his glasses, Harry's eyes went wide. "What are you doing?"

Riddle smirked, and even as Harry watched, the masks seemed to melt away, or, at least, a different mask took its place. "I don't believe we ever properly finished our duel."

"What? Why are you-" Harry stuttered, at a complete loss as to why Riddle had suddenly cast aside the model student persona he worked so hard to maintain. He supposed that Riddle had shown his true colours to his house at some point to gain his place at the top of the hierarchy but... _still._

"Harold," Riddle said, his tone almost pitying as he took a step forwards. "I think it's about time I taught you a little lesson about how things work here in Slytherin.

"As I'm sure you've gathered, this is a house of order, each and every student earning their own place within its ranks. When I was in my second year, to the great surprise of all, I imagine, I took my rightful place at the top by defeating the former 'King', as some would put it. Since then, everything has run smoothly but from time to time, when things become too quiet, some snobbish brat decides that it's his turn on the throne," - out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Rosier squirm slightly in his seat - "and so it's my job to put them in their place."

Harry shifted his weight from foot to foot. Stupid, bloody sorting hat, why couldn't it have placed him in Gryffindor?

"Harold, I'm afraid you've overstepped your mark," Riddle said bluntly, taking another step closer. "Which leaves us with a choice. For some unearthly reason I seem to like you, Harold, therefore I'm going to honour you by providing an ultimatum. Either you can join us," Riddle gestured to himself and the Death Eater – or rather, inner circle – crew. "Or, you can challenge me to a duel, and when you lose, I'll be depositing your broken body at the very bottom of the hierarchy, which I promise you, is not somewhere you want to find yourself. You have until, hm, let's say the next attack to decide your fate. You'd better hope the heir of Slytherin likes you."

Harry raised his gaze evenly to meet Riddle's, his wand slipping into his hand. Aside from all the, er, murder and torture, there really was a reason he hated Lord Voldemort. "You're a right _bastard_ , Riddle," he spat.

"Put your wand away, Harold," Riddle told him, having the nerve to sound exasperated while still holding his own wand. "I don't want you to poke someone's eye out." The Death Eat- no, inner circle, chuckled.

Harry snapped. He had no idea what he was hoping to achieve but Riddle's smug face was really starting to irk him. " _Expelliarmus!"_ He shouted, the spell blasting from his wand with an intensity he'd never experienced before. Of course, Riddle managed to conjure a shield though it satisfied Harry to see it was with some difficulty. Harry had just raised his wand to shout another spell when... he stopped, his eyes going wide.

What the-

He glanced from the Holly wand in his hand to the unmistakable Yew wand in Riddle's. That should be impossible. Why hadn't it...

What the actual-

"So if you'd please refrain from attacking anyone for the next couple of days it would be greatly appr-"

"What?" Harry asked, interrupting whatever Riddle was saying this time.

The inner circle and the band of fifth years chuckled, while Riddle raised his eyebrows. "I said if you could refrain from-"

"No," Harry said distractedly, cutting him off again. "I heard what you said. That wand's yours isn't it?"  
The rowdy fifth years laughed a little louder but any amusement was wiped off Riddle's face in an instant. "Does this have anything to do with the real reason you switched wands at the duelling club?"

"No! I mean, no," Harry frowned. Had he done something to his wand? Was it because Ralph used it? In this timeline, it was definitely good, he wouldn't need to buy a new wand for starters but what if Voldemort tried to kill him back in their timeline, or whichever timeline. He doubted such a trivial thing such as time travel would stop Voldemort hunting him down. "I just remembered something... excuse me."

Turning his back on the lot of them, he headed towards the boys' dormitories, leaving a way too intrigued Riddle behind him. He briefly heard Rosier's comment of, "he's a weirdo, that one," before the mahogany door fell shut.

* * *

"There's no chance he'll beat you, right?" Were the first words to leave Lycoris's mouth the second Tom took his normal seat, completing the inner circle.

"Of course not," Marius scoffed, kicking his feet up on the coffee table before immediately removing them under Abraxas's reproachful glare.

"Don't fret, Lycoris, I won't be leaving that up to fate," Tom said, smirking at his four associates.

Abraxas raised his eyebrows. "You're going to cheat?"

"Ah," Alphard said, taping his nose and leaning forwards. "It's only cheating if you're caught, dear Abraxas."

"But what if Luxtor takes the other deal?" Lycoris asked. "He won't _actually_ join us?"

"If he does take that deal, I shall of course stay true to my word," Tom said with a casual shrug. "But, he won't."

"How can you be so sure?" Marius said.

The Malfoy heir sighed heavily, rolling his eyes in a 'how can you be so stupid' manner. "And here was me thinking you were a good judge of character, Lestrange. Luxtor doesn't like to submit, especially to Tom. He'd rather be publicly humiliated and booted to the bottom of the hierarchy. Even then I expect he'll attempt to continue his pointless resistance until the entire school turns on him for being the heir of Slytherin, then, under some strange circumstances he is found to be guilty and expelled, which I assume is Tom's plan."

Tom gave Abraxas a rare, half-genuine smile, causing the other three to frown in envy. "Very clever, Abraxas," he praised, though he purposefully didn't mention the freak accident in which Harold tragically died moments after his expulsion. It simply wouldn't do to have a potential threat running amok outside of Hogwarts' walls. "Having Harold at the bottom of the hierarchy makes spreading rumours and manipulating him a great deal easier."

Marius nodded in understanding, an amused smirk lighting his face.

"So when's the next attack going to be?" Alphard said, placing his elbows on his knees and leaning forward eagerly.

Tom smiled innocently and shrugged one shoulder, adopting his model student mask. "Well I don't know the heir of Slytherin personally but I always feel that Hallowe'en is a particularly prominent day in wizarding culture, one that muggle-borns could never truly understand."

The other four boys laughed appreciatively, then their smiles suddenly faded from their face.

"What would you like, Rosier?" Tom asked, morphing back into 'King Tom', inspecting his perfect fingernails instead of turning around to face the fifth year.

"I'd like to speak to Marius," the boy said, his usual brash tones respectively abandoned.

Carelessly Tom waved a hand in Marius's direction, dismissing him.

Marius glared at his feet but stood nonetheless, following the fifth year to a more secluded area of the common room, a group of second years scuttling away to give them privacy at a single glare from Rosier.

"Before you say whatever you're planning on saying, Aber," Marius said, sinking into the significantly less comfortable armchair compared to his one by the fire. "Why on earth did you turn on Luxtor earlier, after Tom specifically told you and your lot not to go within five metres of him."

Aber Rosier shrugged, absently running a hand through his curly black hair, so similar to Marius's. "That halfblood's not in charge of everything round here."

Marius's fists clenched tightly in his lap. "Oh, is that why you act so meek and pathetic to his face? You're too big for your boots, cousin."

Aber shrugged again. "He won't end well, he won't-"

"Aber," Marius said tensely. "Kindly shut your mouth about Tom before I curse you and get to your point, I want to return to my seat by the fire, it's much too cold over here."

"Awright," Aber said, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Fine. Whatever. Donovan's being released at the end of November-"

"Keep your voice down," Marius hissed, glancing over his shoulder before glaring at his cousin.

"It's not as if everyone doesn't already know he was chucked into Azkaban," Aber muttered, though he did lower his voice. "Anyway, my parents have planned a Christmas party and I know he'd really love it if you were there."

Marius sighed, sinking his head into his palms. "You know I can't Aber."

"Yes you can," Aber said. "Screw the Malfoy party."

"I _can't_. Tom wants us all to be there-"

"There you go with that bloody halfblood talk again," Aber hissed, glaring venomously at the circle of seats by the fire. "Is he really more important than your own family?"

"You don't understand!" Marius emphasised, banging his head against his hands. "He's got all these amazing plans for the wizarding world. Plans people like us could only dream of, but Tom. Tom can make the, a reality. I don't want to be on the losing side, Aber, and, I don't think you should either."

"Forget this," Aber snarled, jumping to his feet and turning to head back towards the group of fifth years. "I'll remember to tell Donovan that while he was spending the last of his teenage years trapped with Dementors, his cousin was off with a halfblood, making up childish plans to rule the world."

"Aber," Marius said half-heartedly, before falling back into the sofa and letting his head flop against the back, his eyes falling closed.

He loved Tom, he really did. The fact that there was finally going to be a revolution in the wizarding world that he'd be right at the centre of was exhilarating, breath-taking. They'd been gifted with a chance to make a difference, to make their mark on the world. Yet sometimes, Marius couldn't help but think that Tom Riddle was more trouble than he was worth.

* * *

 **A/N: For some reason I really like this chapter... I don't know why but I think it's my fave so far. Plus I like Rosier, I have a feeling he's going to kick up a load of trouble:)**

 **Yay, this story officially has 200 followers! I'm so happy, you guys are awesome. But seeing as we're nearly at 100 reviews (I can't believe it) I was thinking of doing a reward type thing. I don't know what you want that to be, but it'll most likely be something along the lines of me doing extra bits from this story, ie, Lycoris's childhood. If you have any ideas for that then leave them in a review:) I hope you liked the chapter!**


	10. Chapter 10

After that evening, Harry managed a grand total of two days before he ran into his next bout of trouble. Though, for his 1942 standards, two whole days was pretty darn good.

Since Riddle's ultimatum, the two of them hadn't exchanged any conversations worth noting, most consisting of: "good morning, Harold," "don't talk to me, Riddle," and "good evening, Harold," "leave me alone, Riddle." Or something along those lines.

But the general quietness had given Harry a lot of time to think. His top concern of course was getting home, something Dumbledore had promised to investigate, though since the chamber had been opened, Dumbledore admitted to having more pressing matters at hand.

Harry's second concern was the priori incantatum that had not occurred between he and Riddle. Not that that was a concern, more of a blessing really, but it was still unexplainable. The best answer Harry had come up with so far was that none of them had been trying to kill the other, so perhaps that had prevented it? Or perhaps his wand just realised that if it did anything out of the ordinary, Harry would have to abandon it. Either or.

His third concern was that, due to his stupid bacon argument with Riddle over the breakfast table on Sunday, he now was forced to avoid the it like the plague. Trouble was, he was now really craving a bacon sandwich.

It was Wednesday 30th September 1942, classes had just finished for the day and Harry was making his way down to the kitchens as sneakily as possible lest Riddle see him, follow him, and stop him getting his bacon sandwich. That would suck.

Checking back over his right shoulder for any stalking Slytherins, Harry veered off from the entrance hall in the direction of the portrait of the fruit bowl, which luckily existed in this decade, otherwise he'd be screwed. Unfortunately, being sneaky was not as easy as the muggle spy films Dudley used to watch had made it seem. Too busy checking behind him, Harry didn't watch where he was placing his feet and so, just as he rounded a corner, he walked slap bang into someone, nearly making them loose their balance and fall to the floor.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, taking a step back and pushing his glasses up his nose. Then he froze.

"You should watch where you're going, _snake_ ," the seventh year boy said, pushing his own glasses up his nose and flicking a stand of exceedingly messy dark brown hair out of his face. Harry gaped. Charlus Potter. His _grandfather._ Wow, time travel was weird. He'd seen the older boy around a few times since coming to the past, though this was the first time they'd spoken. "Do I have something on my face?" Charlus demanded as Harry continued to do nothing but stare.

"Er, no," Harry said, breaking out of his trance. "I just, just thought you looked like someone I knew, for a moment."

"Well, that's great and all," Charlus gave him a dirty look and stepped past him, heading towards the entrance hall.

"Wait," Harry blurted out, trying to prolong this unexpected meeting.

Charlus turned back expectantly and raised his eyebrows as Harry tried to think of something to say. Luckily, he didn't have to as Charlus suddenly frowned. "Hey, you're that new kid everyone's talking about, aren't you?"

Harry blinked. "Um, yeah I am," he said, then, "wait, everyone's _talking about me_?"

Charlus grinned, earlier animosity vanishing in an instant. "Course. You took on Tom Riddle in the duelling club with a malfunctioning wand and didn't lose! I mean, you didn't win either but still. _No one_ takes on Tom Riddle!"

"No one?" Harry repeated. "Why not?"

Charlus shrugged. "Isn't it obvious? He's brilliant at spell work, probably knows more about magic than half the staff already and he's only a sixth year. People are scared to duel against him. And I get that, if there's no chance of winning, why would you?"

Harry had to make a concious effort not to let his mouth drop open. "So you all just sit back and let him and his entourage walk all over you?" He frowned.

"Huh?" Charlus said, giving Harry a weird look. "Walk all over us? Tom doesn't do that. Don't tell anyone I said this but he's actually an alright guy, for a Slytherin at least-"

"Wait," Harry said slowly, not believing what he was hearing. "We are talking about the same Tom Riddle, right?" _You know,_ _the_ _one who's opened the chamber of secrets, grows up to be a mass murderer, kills my parents and ruins my life._ But of course, he didn't say that last bit out loud.

"As far as I know, there's only one Tom Riddle," Charlus said.

"But he's a, he's a bastard," Harry spluttered.

Charlus took a step away from him, narrowing his eyes. "Look, I don't know what business you and Tom have going on with each other, but that's your business, keep me out of it. I already have a detention for skipping Defence this morning, I don't want any more trouble."

And so Harry was left standing in the corridor alone as Charlus rushed off, contemplating how stupid and blind people were in 1942. Why was it only him who saw Riddle for who he truly was? A monster.

However, this little mishap with his grandpa wasn't enough to stop Harry from getting his bacon sandwich so he continued on his journey, perhaps a little more disgruntled than before. Regrettably, the real trouble began just as the fruit bowl portrait came into Harry's sight.

He was halted mid-step as a rough hand suddenly clamped around his wrist and yanked him into a dark, abandoned classroom just off the corridor.

"Get off me, Riddle you twat," was the first thing Harry said as he squinted through the sudden darkness, twisting his wrist and wriggling free. His wand was in his hand in an instant. " _Lumos,"_ he muttered, then nearly dropped his wand in shock.

Aber Rosier, the burly fifth year who had accused him of being the heir of Slytherin on Sunday night, stood before him, not Riddle. Another fellow Slytherin stood behind him, just out of the pool of light. "Aber Rosier," Aber said, extending a hand which Harry shook in a state of mild confusion, not lessening his grip on his lit wand in his right hand.

"I'm Silas Yaxley," the other Slytherin said, taking a small step forwards to let the wandlight wash over his face. The pureblood was tanned, probably of a similar height to Riddle and had neat, shoulder length, blonde hair.

"Right," Harry said, emerald eyes flicking between the two students, attempting to discern how trustworthy they were likely to be. Wait, scratch that, they were both 1942 Slytherins, trustworthy? Not likely. "And, um... why are you pulling me into a dark, abandoned classroom?" He asked.

"We need to speak with you," Aber said, his usually loud and brash voice reduced to a quieter volume.

"Okay," Harry said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. Why did he get the feeling he was so not going to like where this was headed? "You do realise that it is perfectly simple to talk to me, oh, I don't know, in the common room, or the great hall, for example."

"Not if we don't want the other students to see us," Yaxley pointed out.

"And why don't you want us to be seen?" Harry asked slowly.

Aber grinned toothily down at Harry. "Look, Harold. We couldn't help but notice that you, ah, moderately dislike Riddle-"

Harry snorted. _Moderately dislike?_ How about loathe?

"-Point is, we want Riddle gone and we think you're the best chance we've got of accomplishing that."

Harry blinked at the two boys, then took a deep breath. That hadn't been what he was expecting... at all. On Sunday night, he'd kind of got the impression the Aber disliked Riddle, but to actively try to rival him was another matter. Course, Harry himself did it several times in an hour, however, Riddle had killed his parents, that gave him the right. What on earth did Riddle do to Aber? "How am I your best chance?" Harry questioned.

"Because Riddle's offered you a place within his inner circle," Yaxley replied. "We'd have someone right on the inside-"

"No," Harry abruptly said, not even letting Yaxley finish his sentence. His hand was on the door handle when he felt a firm grip on his upper arm, stopping his escape in its tracks. "Get off me, Rosier," he hissed, glowering up at the burly boy. When Aber only rolled his eyes, Harry twisted his wand around to point straight at the fifth year's face.

"Easy," Yaxley said, eyeing his wand nervously. "Just think about it for a moment. On the one hand, you'd have to pretend to be part of the inner circle, but on the other hand, Riddle would have no idea you were stabbing him in the back until it was too late."

Harry raised his eyebrows, though his wand did lower slightly. "And you honestly believe Riddle wouldn't suspect a thing? He's hardly what I'd call an idiot, he knows I'd never willingly join him."

"Which is why we have to use the time we've got to convince him otherwise," Aber said, apparently convinced Harry wasn't going to run away for he released his grip. "I heard Riddle last night, he said the next attack would be on Halloween. It's the 30th of September today so we have roughly a month."

"But I still don't see how-"

Yaxley sighed. "Harold, stop interrupting and let us speak, we have a plan. I don't know how much you know about Slytherin hierarchy, but right now, you're in the spotlight. Not only have you proven yourself as a capable wizard but you currently have no alliance or, er, friends within the house."

"Hey," Harry said, frowning in annoyance. "I have friends-"

"Don't take this the wrong way," Aber said, smirking. "But you really don't."

"Aber," Yaxley hissed. "You're not helping. Anyway," he turned back to Harry. "We believe Riddle's plan is for you to either join him or get kicked from Hogwarts." Harry started to protest but Yaxley only talked over him. "The last thing he wants would be for you to be seen having other contacts within the house, not only does it threaten his plan but he'll get jealous."

"And how do you know that?" Harry asked, though, having seen Riddle's possessive side for himself, he privately agreed.

"It's what happened with Marius," Aber said. "He's my cousin, you see."

"Oh," Harry tilted his head to the side and lifted his lit wand tip higher. "Yeah, now you mention it, I kinda see the resemblance. It's in the hair."

Aber scowled, folding his arms across his chest and standing up taller, somehow making him appear much more intimidating. "Are you interested in what we're saying or not?"

Harry shrugged non-committally, but indicated with his left hand for Yaxley to continue.

"If he's jealous," Yaxley continued. "He'll try to spend more time with you, which provides you with plenty of opportunity to pretend that you're getting to know him, and that you're starting to realise he's not as bad as you first thought he was. Then you feed him some story about how when you first came to Hogwarts, you were upset over what happened to your village and that you weren't acting like yourself etcetera etcetera."

Harry nodded hesitantly. "Okay," he said. "Let's say that Riddle does decide he can trust me and I join the inner circle, what happens then?"  
A satisfied smirk lit up Aber's face. "We get him expelled," he said. "Everyone in our house with a brain knows that Riddle's the heir of Slytherin, we just need the rest of the school to know it too."

"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds so simple," Harry said sarcastically, though the cogs in his mind were beginning to turn. If he'd had done what he'd originally planned to do – challenge Riddle to a duel he knew he couldn't win, no matter how hard he studied and trained over the next month – he'd end up completely alone, twiddling his thumbs and waiting for Riddle to set him up, or whatever else he was planning to do.

Yet if he went along with this strange, new opportunity, he could completely flip the tables on Riddle and quite possibly get him expelled, probably saving Myrtle's life in the process. But... if he wasn't stuck in some alternate dimension and he truly had gone back in time, he could end up changing who knew what in the future. Maybe everything.

"So, are you in?" Yaxley asked, looking at Harry hopefully.

Harry bit his lip, green eyes flicking between Aber and Yaxley. "I guess," he finally said. After all, what was the harm? It would be easy to abandon this alliance in the future, but for now, it seemed like a good plan. Besides, annoyingly, Aber was right. He had no friends within Slytherin.

"Excellent," Yaxley said while Aber grinned. "Then let's get started right away. Join me for dinner in the Great Hall later?"

When Harry was eventually released from the abandoned classroom a lesson in being a Slytherin later, there were two main thought chasing themselves around his mind. The first being that he may actually have a shot at getting his revenge on Riddle once and for all, and the second being that now, he could finally get his bacon sandwich.

* * *

"Just because he's a ghost, doesn't mean he can't give you a detention," Lycoris said, frowning at Alphard over the Slytherin table at dinner that evening.

"I don't care," Alphard said, moodily stabbing his jacket potato with his fork. "History of Magic is a stupid subject, why should I do the homework if I'm not learning anything interesting?"

"Because!" Lycoris said, glaring at Abraxas when the Malfoy heir sniggered into his dinner. "Tom?"

"Alphard, do your homework," Tom said absently, eyes trained on the Great Hall entrance, hardly touching his food.

Lycoris sent Alphard a satisfied smirk as if Tom's word was final, which, in his books, it was. "Come on, it's only a three foot essay, how bad could it be?"

" _How bad could it be?_ " Alphard repeated incredulously, his eyes wide. "Three whole feet! That's such a waste of my time!"

"Detention's also a waste of your time," Lycoris pointed out.

"Oh, shut up, both of you," Marius said. "I swear, this argument gets put on repeat every evening."

"It does," Abraxas agreed. "This is the third time this week, and it's _Wednesday_!"

Lycoris threw his hands up in exasperation. "That's because Alphard never does his-"

"Why is Harold with Yaxley," Tom suddenly said, his sharp tone cutting off the argument.

All together, the inner circle glanced over towards the great hall entrance. Indeed, Harold Luxtor and Silas Yaxley were making their way across the great hall, evidently engrossed in conversation.

"Tom, relax," Abraxas immediately said. "Harold doesn't know the first thing about Slytherin politics, they most likely met in the library, started talking about school work and decided to walk to the Great Hall together.

Tom didn't look convinced. "I'm not so sure," he said coolly, watching the two sit down. "Yaxley's hardly an innocent pawn, he's in Rosier's crew."

"I still don't think-" Abraxas begun but Tom had already gotten to his feet and picked up his dinner plate.

"Stay here," Tom ordered, walking away from them and down to the other end of the long table where Harold and Yaxley had just seated themselves. "Mind if I join you?" He asked brightly, model student mask flashing back up.

Harold frowned at his food but Yaxley smiled graciously. "If you wish," the blonde pureblood said, indicating toward the spare seat next to him.

"Thank you," Tom said, taking the seat. "You see, Lycoris and Alphard were having a rather tiresome argument and I didn't think my sanity could take it any longer. I do hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

"Not at all," Harold muttered, rolling his eyes.

Yaxley looked between the two sixth years with an amused expression. "We were simply talking about how Harold's enjoying Hogwarts so far," he said, giving a purposeful look in Harold's direction. Interesting, Tom noted.

After a brief second of eye contact with Yaxley, Harold actually glanced up from his plate, making steady eye contact with Tom who was amazed to see that the hate that usually burned bright in those green orbs wasn't to be seen. The boy nodded. "I'm particularly enjoying Defence Against the Dark Arts at the moment," Harold said. "Professor Merryweather's a good teacher."

"Really?" Tom asked, inwardly marvelling at the fact that Harold was striking up a polite, normal conversation with him. "I always found her to be a little... dated."

Harold shrugged, placing a mouthful of potato and beans in his mouth. "Well," he said after swallowing – nice to know the new student had better table manners than Alphard. "Compared to some of the tutors I've had." Harold smirked to himself, as if enjoying some private joke.

"I'm sure we don't want to here where that's headed," Yaxley said, raising his eyebrows.

"Probably not," Harold consented. "Almost all of them were complete nutters."

To Tom's immense surprise, Harold managed to go through the entirety of dinner without being outwardly hostile and rude towards him even once. There were a few brief moments when the hate hidden behind Harold's eyes seemed to spark, but on the whole he acted just like any other student. Which of course set off all the warning bells in Tom's head.

"Well?" Abraxas had asked the second Tom rejoined his group. "What do you think?"

Tom leant forwards, azure eyes sparkling dangerously. "Either Harold desperately wants to look good in Yaxley's eyes, or something's going on," he said quietly. "He was exceedingly polite."

"Aber?" Marius questioned.

Tom leaned back and shrugged. "Who knows? Perhaps it might be better to sit back and see how things play out."

Lycoris frowned at his plate, though said nothing. Tom? Sit back? No, things were about to get very interesting in the Snake House.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm sorry... I'm so so sorry this is such a late update. *hides from tomato throwers*. But I have excuses, promise. I started college in September so basically went from doing nothing all day to being out 9-5 with loads of work to do:( Luckily, I've managed to get into a routine again and I have specific writing times so the next update will definitely not take six weeks!**

 **Massive thanks to all you amazing, fabulous, awesome Favouriters, Followers, Reviewers and Readers! You're the reason I wrote for a solid three days to get this chapter done xD**


	11. Chapter 11

_Friday 2_ _nd_ _October 1942_

Harry dropped his Potions book on the desk with a bang, collapsing heavily onto the nearest stall to watch the rest of his sixth year Potions' class amble into the dungeon. Slughorn stood at the front, beaming at all who entered as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. Despite Slughorn's blatant favouritism toward anyone rich, famous or talented, Harry would have to admit that he preferred this Potions professor to Snape (though that wasn't saying a lot, he would probably prefer a troll to Snape). Harry suddenly shuddered as a horrible thought struck him. Imagine if he'd been sent back to 1942 and _Snape_ had been his head of house...

He probably would've ran away from Hogwarts the first chance he got.

"Mind if I sit here?" A polite (and irritatingly familiar) voice asked, waking Harry from his musings.

"Yes," Harry said blankly, staring up at the blackboard at the front of the dungeon. "Though I expect you'll sit there anyway, whatever I say."

Riddle laughed quietly as he did, indeed, take the stool next to Harry. "I don't know why you'd refuse," he said, laying his Potions equipment on their desk. "Anyone else in here would love to have me as their partner."

Harry continued staring straight ahead, leaning his chin on his hand and refusing to so much as glance at the Slytherin next to him. "Then why don't you go and make some poor girl's day?" He suggested, bitterly hoping Riddle would get up and move.

"Because that would be boring," Riddle said, raising an eyebrow.

Luckily for Riddle, Slughorn chose that moment to begin the lesson, halting Harry in his plans to shove the git off his stool. It was just after Slughorn said, "today you'll be attempting to brew Amortentia with the person sitting next to you," that Harry truly realised that the world was out to get him.

Creating a love potion with Riddle? This had to be a new 1942 low.

"Can you go and fetch the ingredients?" Riddle asked absently, flicking his book to the correct page after Slughorn had told them to begin.

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered under his breath, although he was secretly glad for an excuse to get away from the future dark lord, even if it was only for two minutes. "Help me," Harry whispered to Ralph Timby, his usual Potions partner, as he grabbed a handful of Ashwinder eggs from the student supply cupboard.

"Why?" Ralph replied, glancing over at Riddle in amusement. "Riddle's brilliant at Potions, Slughorn'll probably give you full marks. It's me who needs help, I'm stuck with Olivia." He nodded his head back at a Ravenclaw girl already fervently stirring their cauldron. "She believes she's some kind of mad scientist or something, I'll be lucky if I manage to get to lunch in one piece."

And he left Harry to walk back to Riddle in annoyance, half wishing he could get blown up if it meant he'd get to skip class.

"Thank you," Riddle said as Harry dumped the mixture of ingredients unceremoniously on the desk.

Harry didn't reply, sitting back down on his stool to watch as Riddle began chopping up their rose thorns, seemingly content to do everything by himself.

"You shouldn't sit down," Riddle said a moment later, tipping the chopped thorns into the cauldron and stirring anticlockwise. "If the potion was to go wrong and overflow you wouldn't be able to jump out of the way in time."

Harry stayed seated, shrugging. "You're the one who's always going on about how great you are, I'm sure you won't make a fatal mistake."

Riddle leaned forward to read the next instruction. "You never know, Ashwinder eggs react particularly fiercely with water," he said, smirking at him. "And we wouldn't want anything to happen to you now, would we?"

"Course not," Harry said, frowning down at the desk before an idea caught hold in his mind. "Though, you know what, Riddle? You're right." Harry stood, tucking his stool under the desk. "Just because you won't make a mistake, doesn't mean no one else will. Besides, I shouldn't leave you to do all of the work by yourself, we are meant to be partners, after all."

Picking up the silver knife, Harry grabbed the second half of the rose thorns and begun roughly chopping them up into all different shapes and sizes. "Harold, stop," Riddle said a moment later, his tone coloured with annoyance. "If you add those you're going to ruin our potion."

Harry smiled innocently, continuing his mutilating. "You were the one who wanted to partner with me," he said, satisfied that he'd finally discovered something that irked Riddle. Clearly the child prodigy had never failed a class before.

"Harold," Riddle half growled, attempting to wrestle the knife from him. "Stop it."

Harry let Riddle take the knife, instead pointing his wand at their cauldron from under the desk, prepared to do some quality damage, but before he had a chance, he felt the tip of Riddle's wand press into the small of his back, causing him to freeze. "Harold," Riddle hissed, making sure that none of the other students could hear them from their position right at the back of the class. "I've never failed a potions class before and I don't intend to start now, so stop or I swear to Merlin I'll- Hello professor."

In an instant, the unusable rose thorns on their table silently vanished and Riddle took a step away from Harry, smiling like any other normal student.

"Hello boys," Slughorn said, beaming happily. "What a pleasure it is to see my two favourite students working together!"

Favourite student? When had that happened? Oh, the duelling club. Harry had almost managed to forget that particular incident when he'd blasted a hole in the great hall... "It was bound to happen at some point," Harry said, meaning every single word.

"Well I'm expecting something astounding," Slughorn said, peering into their cauldron and smiling as he saw the perfect start to the potion Harry had so far been unable to ruin. "Harold, I can tell you're a natural, Mr Turdy's marks have practically doubled since you started partnering with him!"

Harry frowned, perplexed, then his expression cleared. "Oh, you mean Timby?"

"Yes, him," Slughorn said absently, peering at their ingredients. "You seem to be missing half of your rose thorns," he pointed out. "You haven't put them in already, have you?"

"No, professor," Riddle said quickly. "Harold simply didn't get enough, in fact, he was just about to go and fetch some more." Riddle's azure eyes narrowed menacingly in Harry's direction, an action that was missed by an utterly oblivious Slughorn.

"Good, good," their professor said. "That reminds me, I hope to see you both at my little get together this evening. Just dinner with a couple of my best students."

Harry's stomach dropped. "Um, I'm not sure I'll be able to make it, professor," he immediately lied. "See, I have a load of work I need to do and-"

"Nonsense," Slughorn cut him off, waving a hand. "You're a bright young man, I'm sure you'll be able to take one night off."

Riddle smiled at him in what was clearly meant to be an encouraging way. "You should definitely come, Harold," he said. "Lycoris, Alphard, Marius and Abraxas will all be present too."

Yay, an Inner Circle field trip. Didn't that sound fun? "Oh, I don't-"

"My office at seven," Slughorn said, deaf to Harry's protests. "I'll see you both there."

Once Slughorn was a safe distance away, Harry groaned, glaring at Riddle. "Thanks a lot," he spat.

"It was nothing," Riddle smirked, running a hand through his dark hair and turning back to their potion. "Now please stop trying to fail us."

Of course, Harry would have continued with his plan - and probably would have succeeded - had the potion Ralph and the Ravenclaw girl were brewing not exploded, showering the whole class in sticky, orange gunk. The lesson finished early as the sixth year Potions students all traipsed up to the Hospital Wing lest the substance have any undesired effects. Although, on the plus side, that was the last time Riddle attempted to be Harry's potions partner for a long time.

* * *

It was at roughly six thirty that evening that Harry found himself alone in his dorm, searching frantically through his trunk for a nice set of dress robes to wear to the Slug Club. Originally, he'd been planning on simply rocking up in his uniform, but when he'd overheard Abraxas drawling on about the 30-something Gallon robes he'd be wearing, Harry had panicked. Unfortunately, the only thing he'd found so far was a brilliant magenta robe embedded with golden stars... thanks a lot Dumbledore's fashion sense, he'd rather go naked.

"Harold?" The call was accompanied by a soft knock on the mahogany door.

"Hi," Harry said, smiling at Silas Yaxley as the fifth year entered.

Yaxley glanced around their dorm, taking in everything from Alphard's 'organised' mess to Lycoris' stack of reading material on his bedside table to Tom's neatly arranged belongings. "Huh, this looks exactly like our dorm," he remarked.

Harry returned to rummaging through his trunk. "You thought it wouldn't?" He questioned.

"It's just," Yaxley said, glancing around again. "This is _their_ dorm, isn't it? I always thought it would be more, um, impressive."

"Oh, right," Harry said, grinning as he spotted a promising plain black robe. "Reckon I could wear this," he asked, holding it up for Yaxley to see.

"What for?" Yaxley said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the stone wall, his critic of the famous Riddle dorm finished.

"Slughorn's dinner party thing," Harry shrugged.

Yaxley's mouth dropped open. "You've been invited," he gaped. "Don't take this the wrong way or anything but how the hell did you manage that?"

"No idea," Harry said, determined not to remind Yaxley (or indeed anyone) of the disastrous duelling club incident. "Are you going?"

Yaxley shook his head, an expression of awe plastered on his face. "Certainly not. Hardly anyone gets invited, maybe about twelve from the whole school."

Harry raised his eyebrows sceptically. "And five of them just so happen to be Tom and his gang?"

"Obviously," Yaxley said with a frown. "Tom practically started the Slug Club back in my first year, I mean, he first presented the idea to Slughorn. It managed to put him on a level playing field with the older, pureblood Slytherins. Getting invited was – _is –_ a massive achievement, and since Tom, as well as the entirety of his 'gang' as you called them, were attending every single meeting, he started to build a reputation and things kind of went from there."

"Huh," Harry said. "That's actually really clever."

"You thought Tom was an idiot?" Yaxley said, though his smirk contained no humour.

"Evidently not," Harry replied, before holding up the robe once more. "So, what do you think?"

"It's fine," Yaxley said with a small shrug. "The more prestigious Purebloods such as Malfoy, Black and Greengrass will go on and on about expensive robes but in all honesty, apart from brand names, there's almost no difference, most Slytherins wear dress robes exactly like those."

"Thanks," Harry smiled, throwing the robe on top of his emerald bed covers and beginning to stuff his trunk with all of the borrowed belongings he'd strewn about as he was rummaging.

A second later the mahogany door swung open again though this time it was Abraxas and Alphard who entered, already donned in their expensive dress robes. "-which is exactly why Sleekeazy is a million times more productive than Sculpting gel-" Abraxas was saying, sending a brief nod in Harry's direction before he pulled up short, spotting Yaxley standing awkwardly by the door. "What are _you_ doing in here?" He asked, his lip curling.

"He was just talking to me," Harry said, frowning slightly at Abraxas's attitude.

"It's fine," Yaxley said, pushing off from the wall. "I should go. Um, have fun tonight..."

Alphard waited until Yaxley had gone, then rounded on Harry. "Why are you suddenly spending so much time with Yaxley?" He questioned, folding his arms over his chest.

"I met him in the Library the other day and we started talking," Harry replied as nonchalantly as he could, sticking firmly to the story he, Yaxley and Rosier had agreed on. "I didn't realise it was a problem."

Alphard and Abraxas exchanged a look. "It's not," Abraxas said a beat later. "It's just, we don't make a habit of inviting others into our dormitory, Tom prefers privacy."

"Well that's great for Tom," Harry said, turning his back on the two inner circle members and slamming his trunk closed.

"Look, Harold," Abraxas said. "We're sorry if we're coming across in a rude manner. We're used to having a specific way of doing things, but since you've shown up, all of our systems have been thrown off. I'm positive it'll get back to normal soon enough."

"Whatever," Harry said, turning back around, aiming to leave the dorm, then he paused. Rosier and Yaxley wanted him to buddy up with Riddle's gang? He may as well start making an effort. "I'm going to go to the bathroom quickly but how about we all walk up to Slughorn's dinner party together? After all, this castle's pretty big and I still don't quite know my way around, I'd probably end up in the north tower or something if I tried to get there by myself."

Abraxas smiled, though Harry got the impression that it was a little unsure. "Of course, but don't worry, you'll start finding your way around in no time at all. Unless you're Alphard," Abraxas smirked at his friend. "He too would end up in the north tower while trying to get to a Potions office."

"Hey!" Alphard exclaimed, while Harry laughed, hoping it didn't sound too forced.

"Well, thanks," Harry said, grabbing the robe from his bed and leaving the dorm, heading for the bathroom on the end of the corridor. Since when had laughing become so painful?

Twenty minutes later he met the others in the Slytherin common room, already sick to his stomach and the evening had hardly started. What he hadn't realised (or perhaps he had but had chosen to banish it to the very back of his mind) was that walking with Abraxas and Alphard also meant he had to walk with Lycoris, Marius and, naturally, Riddle. Grudgingly, he did admit to himself that he actually _didn't_ know where Slughorn's office was, so perhaps the guidance was, in this case, needed. Although, on the other hand, he wasn't likely to end up in the north tower either.

When Harry joined them, Riddle raised an eyebrow inquisitively which Harry returned with a sarcastic smile – then remembered he was meant to be trying to be friendly. Oops.

"Glad you took my advice and decided to come," Riddle said, slowing down to walk with Harry at the back of the small group, the common room entrance nosily sliding shut behind them.

"I'd hardly call it advice," Harry frowned. "More like instruction."

Riddle smirked. "When will you start believing that I do these things for your own interest, Harold?"

"As soon as you actually do," Harry smartly replied, causing Riddle to laugh. Clearly the future dark lord was in a good mood this evening. Now, why was that an ominous thought? _Come on, Harry,_ he thought. _Act friendlier._ He nodded toward Abraxas and Alphard ambling along in front of them. "Are they always arguing about hair care products?" He asked.

"Usually," Riddle said. "It becomes exceedingly tedious."

"I can relate," Harry said, mind springing back to Ron and Hermione's constant bickering. "Although it wasn't about hair products, thank goodness."

Riddle gave him an odd look, though his following question wasn't of a rude nature. "You had friends before you came to Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Harry said defensively, then realised his mistake. The more intricate his fake back story was, the more likely it was that Riddle would find inconsistencies and errors and it would all tumble downhill from there. "Just because I was home tutored, doesn't mean I was a hermit. What about you? Do you have any, um, friends from wherever it is you go during the holidays?"

Riddle's lips pressed tightly together. Oh, oops. Orphanage. Riddle came from an orphanage. "One or two," Riddle replied with an amused smile that caused Harry to greatly pity the poor children who had been forced to spend their childhood growing up with a young, psychopathic wizard experiencing magic for the first time.

Lycoris, who had been in the lead, drew to a halt, politely knocking on a polished wooden door. "Come in," a muffled voice from inside called out, and Lycoris entered, Harry and the others following close behind.

Slughorn's office reminded Harry somewhat of the Slytherin common room. Being located in the dungeons, the wall were made of the same stone and the same emerald and silver velvet decorated a cluster of comfy chairs. Against the back wall there was a huge wooden trophy case lined with pictures of old students and various books as well as several shelves stacked with old, dusty potions.

"Take a seat, take a seat," Slughorn said from his position on a winged armchair at the head of the circle of seats.

As they were the first to arrive, Harry aimed for the chair hidden at the back of the circle, but Riddle's fingers curled around his wrist, half dragging him into the one second from Slughorn's right while Riddle took the one directly to Slughorn's right. There was a split second of confusion during which Abraxas stood in the middle, lost, before Riddle inclined his head towards the seat next to Marius. Abraxas sat, his expression displaying confusion.

Slughorn, of course, noticed nothing, too busy selecting a chocolate truffle from a purple box.

Harry sent Riddle a look that quite clearly said, "what did you do that for?" However Riddle only smiled innocently at him, relaxing into his chair.

The next person to enter the room was a tiny Ravenclaw first year who turned a scary shade of white as she took in the sight of the sixth Slytherin sixth-years. Slughorn smiled encouragingly at her. "Do sit down, Elise," he said and the girl fell into the seat Harry had been aiming for, right at the back of the office.

They were soon joined by five others: a Slytherin fourth year named Skye Greengrass; a seventh-year Hufflepuff with a head girl badge pinned on her chest who was closely followed by a Ravenclaw with a head boy badge; a fifth-year Gryffindor and, to Harry's great surprise, Charlus Potter.

"So, Skye," Slughorn said once they were all seated with a cup of butterbeer in one hand and a plate of the best food the Hogwarts house elves had to offer in the other. "How are your family these days? It's been such a long time since I last saw your parents."

"They're wonderful," Skye said in an elegant voice that only a noble, female pureblood could pull off. "Father recently received a promotion to Senior Undersecretary although he's doubtful it could go much further as Leonard is simply excellent at his job, especially during the current Grindelwald crisis."

Harry zoned out of their chatter as it became too politically involved – he'd never understood, nor cared for the workings of either the ministry nor the ancient pureblood community. Eventually, though, the conversation took a much more welcome turn.

"Charlus," Slughorn said, turning to face Harry's grandfather after interrogating the frantically blushing Ravenclaw first year about her favourite subjects. "Do you have any idea which team you'd like to play for after Hogwarts?"

Harry nearly chocked on his butterbeer as Charlus replied, saying that he'd always be a Puddlemere supporter. "You play Quidditch," Harry managed a moment later.

Charlus grinned. "Gryffindor Quidditch captain, at your service."

"No way," Harry said, putting down his butterbeer and leaning forward. He'd hardly heard the word Quidditch in one and a half weeks and had been beginning to suffer major withdrawal symptoms. "Which position?"

"Chaser," Charlus replied, catching on to Harry's enthusiasm. "How about you? I take it you play."

"Seeker," Harry said, causing Charlus to nod.

"I can see that," he said. "You completely have the build for it. What's your fastest catch time? Two years ago our Gryffindor seeker managed fifteen minutes, although he was a seventh year who since went on to play professionally and you don't really get much better than that at Hogwarts."

"I've done five minutes," Harry said, beginning to get so caught up in the excitement of Quidditch that he didn't really care how well that snippet of information was going to fit with his back story.

It was now Alphard's turn to choke on his butterbeer. "Wait, you're actually _good?_ " He asked as Charlus simply sat there with his mouth hanging open.

"Don't sound so surprised," Harry frowned, though he was still smiling more than he had in a week and a half.

"Can you join our team?" Alphard said, his eyes widening. "We held trials a couple of days before you showed up but it's not as if our current seeker is going to win us the cup. Maybe we could hold a second round of trials and see who's best? I play Beater, by the way."

"Um," Harry said glancing around at the circle of chairs. Slughorn had been watching the conversation with a surprised expression, butterbeer hovering somewhere near his mouth. Riddle, on the other hand, was staring at a point on the floor, frowning to himself. "I don't have a broom-" Harry began.

"That's fine," Alphard said, waving a hand dismissively. "Hogwarts just ordered in a brand new bunch of practice brooms, you can use one of them."

From across the room, Charlus groaned. "Ah, Harold, please don't join the Snake team, currently we have such good chances for the cup, plus you'll throw off all of our tactics for the upcoming Slytherin/Gryffindor game."

Alphard, meanwhile, grinned at him. "Come on, come down to the pitch tomorrow morning, it'll be great."

"Okay," Harry said slowly with the reasoning that at least flying might help him take his mind off the horrible time travel mess.

Slughorn clapped his hands together, drawing their attention. "Well, there you go, we might have another Quidditch prodigy on our hands. Are there any other secret talents you're hiding, Harold?"

Luckily (or perhaps not so luckily) Riddle spared Harry from answering by asking a question of his own. "I though you were home tutored, Harold?" He said. "How did you manage to play Quidditch?"

Harry's heart stopped for a second as he came crashing back down to Earth, though he managed to compose himself – externally, at least. "Our town had a reasonably high magical population," he lied. Ha. Privet drive? High magical population? "Most of the kids were home tutored so we'd all, parents included, meet up for a game of Quidditch in a local field every now and then."

"Really?" Riddle asked, head tilted in attentive interest. "Which town was that?"

"Uh," he stammered,completely stuck. Whatever name he said, Riddle would research extensively, then probably begin to find all the errors in his back story and it would all crash down. Then an idea (whether it was a good idea or bad idea was debatable) struck him. "I'm afraid I can't say," he said, trying to look apologetic. "You see, no one knows exactly why Grindelwald's forces attacked my town, so Professor Dumbledore instructed that I remain quite about anything to do with it, just in case. He said you never knew quite who to trust."

Slughorn chuckled. "Wise old man, Albus," he said, then turned to Lycoris, questioning him on how he was enjoying NEWT level Potions thus far, dismissing the conversation. Riddle, however, remained looking at him for a second longer, azure eyes narrowed slightly. When they made eye contact, Riddle winked before glancing away, leaving Harry staring blankly ahead.

Riddle hadn't believed a single word he'd said. And just as he thought he'd been making progress...

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you for all the reviews so far:) you guys are awesomely awesome! Awesomely's a word... right? Spell check's saying yes xD Hopefully this update was a lot quicker than the last one and I'm aiming to keep it that way for as long as possible. Pretty please keep favouriting, following and reviewing xx**


	12. Chapter 12

Stuck in 1942 or not, there truly was no place where Harry felt more at home than on a Quidditch pitch. A slight early morning breeze lifted his robes and ruffled his hair as he shivered, though whether from the crisp October morning or the anticipation of flying, he didn't know.

"Welcome to the Hogwarts' Quidditch pitch," Alphard proudly announced from next to him, the same excited smile plastered on the young Black's face. It wasn't surprising, really, Harry thought, considering how much of a Quidditch fan Sirius had been – just as with the Potters, the sport must run in the family.

"It's massive," Harry said, his eyes wide with pretend awe as he stared around at the stands. "A million times bigger than the field we used to play in."

"Well, I'd hope so," Alphard laughed. "But I suppose we'll just have to see how your supposed Quidditch skills transfer."

Harry nodded, turning back around to face Alphard. The rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team were assembled, Harry only knowing Marius from the bunch. Oddly enough, the Lestrange had remained quiet about Harry's hidden passion for the sport despite clearly having taken a disliking to him. Even as the two made eye contact, Marius's dark eyes narrowed before he looked away. Riddle (surprise, surprise) was also present, as was Lycoris and Abraxas, neither of whom were on the team.

"Alright," Alphard said, clapping his hands together and facing the team. "Harold, these are our chasers, Fergus, Sylvia and Angus," he pointed out three slim students, the second of whom was a girl Harry vaguely recognised as being in his year and therefore some of his classes. She was the only one who acknowledged him. "Malcolm, our keeper," Alphard nodded to a rather butch-looking boy who had his arms tightly crossed over his chest. "You know Marius, he's the other Beater, and then this," a nervous boy who looked about half the size of the rest of the team glanced up, "is Graham, our current seeker. We're going to do hold a second trial between the two of you to see who's best, okay?"

Harry smiled in agreement while Graham gripped his broom that little bit tighter.

"Sylvia," Alphard said, addressing the second chaser, "could you go and show Harold the school brooms, let him pick one to play with."

"Sure," the pretty blonde nodded, walking away from the group towards the store cupboard, indicating for Harry to follow. Glancing briefly behind him, Harry saw Alphard join Riddle, quickly talking to him in a hushed voice. Odd how, even though Riddle wasn't on the team, he still managed to control its happenings with an iron grip, just as he did with the rest of the Snake house. Sylvia, who caught him looking, glanced back over her shoulder too, then smirked at him. "Not gay, are you?" She asked, raising a perfect eyebrow.

Harry very nearly stumbled over flat ground. "What?" He spluttered, mouth half agape. "No!"

"Just checking," she said, glancing back over her shoulder again. "Although if you were, I'd understand," she added, lowering her voice and leaning closer to him. "Tom's gorgeous."

"Right," Harry said, walking a little more to the right in order to broaden the gap between them. "Um, so, which brands of brooms have you got?" He asked, desperate to get back into familiar territory.

Sylvia laughed, shaking her head at him in amusement, though -Merlin bless- she consented to his change in topic. "You're in luck," she said with a smirk. "We've just had a whole new bunch ordered in, meaning they'll be in pristine condition, if not exactly the latest models. I believe most are Cleansweep Threes but, if your luck continues, we may be able to find you a Comet 180."

Merlin. Harry missed his Firebolt.

After only two minutes of shifting through the brooms, Harry's seeker eyesight spotted a Comet 180 hidden in the back corner, mercifully uncontaminated by the first year students -Sylvia insisted there were horror stories about what those brooms were forced to endure.

As they headed back to the pitch, Harry's thoughts wandered to his own memories of his first flying lesson and, in hindsight, he was positively certain these pristine Cleansweep Threes would turn into the haggard mess of brooms presented to he and his friends in the far off future. No wonder Neville had lost control, the brooms were about fifty years old!

As they returned, Harry couldn't help but notice how Sylvia's smile became a little more dazzling as she looked in Riddle's direction, nor how the future dark lord smiled back, a smile which only widened as he caught sight of Harry glaring at him from behind Sylvia's shoulder.

"Okay, team," Alphard said, gathering them all around as Riddle disappeared to join Lycoris and Abraxas in the stands. "Here's the plan. Malcolm, Fergus and I will make up one team while Sylvia, Marius and Angus will make up the other. We'll play a small game to provide distraction while you two"- he pointed at Harry and Graham - "search for the snitch. Who scores the position depends on how well you fly and whoever catches it first. Got it?"

"Yes, boss," Malcolm, the burly keeper, smirked, mounting his broom and rising to hover a little above their heads. "C'mon then, newbie," he said, mockingly raising his eyebrows at Harry. "Let's see what you've got."

Excitement inflating like a balloon inside of him, Harry easily ignored the jibe, gripping his Comet 180 with both hands. Luckily he'd had some experience on this type of broom (possibly even on this exact broom) back in his third year after the tragic end to his Nimbus and while his Firebolt was being 'stripped' by McGonagall and Flitwick. Barely concealing a grin, he took to the sky, pulling himself to a halt directly in front of Malcolm, the joy that only flying could bring soaring inside him. "Race you," he smirked, then shot straight at Malcolm, diving beneath him at the last second.

And then he was flying. Really flying. And it was the best feeling he'd felt since coming to the past. Suddenly what Riddle said, what Riddle did, hardly mattered anymore, he'd left all those worries on the ground far behind him. Leaning forward on his broom, he accelerated, hair blasted back from his face as he zoomed around the pitch. Of course, the speeds he was reaching were nowhere near as fast as he could go on his Firebolt, and he soon discovered that turning required a little more concentration than it had done before, but he soon settled into the rhythm of it. Arriving at one end of the pitch, he weaved in and out of the goal posts before tipping downwards into a steep dive towards the rest of the team, still huddled in the centre of the pitch. At the last second he pulled upwards, preventing himself from crashing head first into the ground. "Are we going to do these trials, or what?" He questioned, euphoria gifting him with a new-found sense of confidence.

"Merlin," was all Angus could say, one hand over his heart. "I honestly thought you were going to die."

"Nah," Harry said, breathless, glancing over at Tom seated in the stands, the dark lord's expression as impassive as ever. "It would take more than Quidditch to kill me."

So, without further ado, the Slytherin team separated into their groups and begun throwing the Quaffle between each other, each side attempting to get the ball through the opposing side's goalposts. Fortunately they didn't play with Bludgers (Harry didn't trust Tom enough not to do a Dobby and tamper with them, despite that not being Tom's style – cursing him off the broom seemed like a more appropriate murder attempt) meaning that for Harry, it was easier than ever to search for the Snitch, taking only twelve minutes. Needless to say, the Slytherin team – apart from Graham who seemed resigned to becoming a reserve the second he'd seen Harry on a broom – was delighted.

"Yes!" Fergus cheered, clapping Harry on the shoulder as they touched down, earlier hostility evaporating in a heartbeat. "Seems as though we might be in with a chance this year!"

"Annoyingly so," came a voice from near the stands.

"Oi!" Alphard said, though his tone was playful. "No Lions on the pitch while we're training."

Charlus shrugged. "Technically, you were holding trials which anyone is free to attend so I'm not actually breaking any rules," he pointed out with an easy smile. "Not that anyone would care if I was, especially my Gryffindor team as I'm about to run back and tell them that I'm to increasing training to four times a week."

"How very Slytherin of you, Potter," Malcolm said, crossing his arms over his chest. "And here I was thinking you were a true Gryffindor."

"I am," Charlus said, leaning against the stand and looking mildly offended. "Slytherins do things behind people's backs yet here I am informing you exactly what I'm about to do."

"Well if you don't mind," Alphard said. "We're going to start training now so unless you've booked the pitch, you can get off."

"Fine, fine," Charlus said, throwing his hands in the air. "Until the November match, Snakes."

Three hours later and Harry found himself changing back into his school robes, utterly exhausted. Alphard, their captain, seemed to have unlimited amounts of energy and enthusiasm, forcing them to repeat moves time and time again until they were perfected. Yet Harry still felt better than he had in a week and a half, flying having cleared his head and grounded him again. The joy that was Slytherin politics and Tom Riddle remained, but he had since come to the realisation that his previous attitude, sulky and resentful, had not been helping his predicament in the slightest.

"There seems to be a lot of rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor," Harry remarked to Alphard, tying up his shoelaces. "What's with that?"

Alphard rolled his eyes in amusement. "Oh, there's always been a famous rivalry between those two houses, dating right back to the founders, I believe, however," he paused, frowning. "I wouldn't say it's an _unhealthy_ rivalry. Most of the Lions are annoying but there are still quite a number I get along with, Charlus being one of them, and the same goes for a large number of my house. Usually around November, near the Slytherin versus Gryffindor match, things tend to heat up but aside from that, it's all a bit of fun, I suppose."

Harry nodded, thinking back to the relationship between his own Slytherin and Gryffindor. Things would definitely worsen over the years, at the fault of the First War, no doubt, but after seeing the friendly rivalry between the two Quidditch captains, he wished things could have turned out differently.

"You two are taking your sorry time," Lycoris stated, ending Harry's contemplation by sticking his head around the changing room door.

"Alright, alright," Alphard said, fastening his cloak and swinging his bag onto his shoulder. "We're coming."

Swallowing his reluctance, Harry exited after Alphard to find that the other four were were waiting for them, Abraxas and Marius already engrossed in a conversation a few meters away and Tom patiently leaning against the building, his arms loosely folded. Alphard and Lycoris marched on ahead, leaving Tom to fall into step with Harry.

"From that performance, it would appear that a field is a perfectly adequate training ground," Tom remarked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Harry tore his eyeline away from the castle up ahead to glance at Tom. "Merlin, Tom, was that a compliment?" He joked, trying to inject something of a light-hearted humour into his tone. "What?" He demanded a moment later as Tom merely stared at him in consideration.

"You called me Tom," the teenage dark lord said, tilting his head as if to get a better look at him. "I was trying to figure out why."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, beginning to slip back into the defensive.

Tom raised his eyebrows again – he seemed to do that a lot, Harry noticed. "You usually call me Riddle," came his reply.

Forcibly relaxing himself, Harry rolled his eyes, fixing his eyeline back on the approaching castle. Was it so impossible for the two of the them to have a normal conversation without Tom switching it into some sort of crime scene slash psychologist investigation? He chose to ignore the hypocrisy in that statement. "So who's the Sylvia girl, then?" He said, then inwardly fainted. He had just initiated a conversation with Voldemort about girls, not that he believed Tom actually held any feelings for her – or indeed, anyone – but was this truly what his life had fallen to?

"A sixth-year Slytherin Chaser," Tom said blankly.

"Figured as much," Harry muttered.

Tom suddenly smirked. "Don't tell me you're jealous?"

For the second time that day, Harry almost tripped over the ground, although at least he had the excuse of a slight incline this time. "I'm not even going to answer that," was his only reply while inwardly entertaining himself with the idea of strangling the infuriating dark lord. A prophecy stated that they were destined to kill each other, after all.

They walked in silence for a few short moments longer before Lycoris fell back and engaged Tom in conversation, leaving Harry to silently marvel at the fact that he'd actually managed to talk to Tom for a sustained period of time without saying something overtly stupid and aggressive. And Hermione often said that Quidditch was pointless!

Another few short moments later and they were entering the Great Hall.

The second Harry walked into the room, he sensed something was off. A normal Saturday lunchtime meal found students chattering happily on their various tables, discussing weekend plans and moaning about homework – the only time the hall fell quiet would be during a Hogsmeade weekend as the majority of the school was absent. The thing was, although the Great Hall was overflowing with students, it was eerily quiet – if one excused the mutterings racing around like wildfires.

Lycoris drew to a stunned halt, but Tom carried on, acting as though nothing was amiss, his hand briefly making contact with Lycoris' elbow, demanding he do the same. Overwhelmed with curiosity, Harry followed the group over to the Slytherin table, taking his usual breakfast seat opposite Tom, completely missing the irritated glance Marius threw him.

"What's going on?" Alphard said, his voice low as he helped himself to a jacket potato, doing his best to act naturally.

In reply, Tom's gaze flickered toward the staff table, or, more specifically, the man seated to Dumbledore's right, conversing with Professor Merryweather in a nonchalant fashion. "It would appear that Professor Dippet has finally found us a replacement Charms teacher."

Instantly, Harry relaxed, pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice instead. For a moment there he'd actually thought something serious had happened!

Since arriving in 1942, all of his Charms classes had been cancelled thus far, something about the old Charms professor disappearing only a week into term. That must be what all the fuss is about, he thought, taking a sip of his drink, clearly the 1942 Hogwarts' students weren't used to seeing brand new professors, not like the students of his time were...

"But," Marius stuttered, yet still managing to sound disdainful, his lip curling as he glared up at their new professor. "Why _Aaron Cooper_?"

Harry almost chocked into his glass, taken aback at the venom in the Lestrange's voice. There went his hypothesis.

"It makes sense," Abraxas said, also staring at Professor Cooper with scrutiny. "After whatever happened with the last professor and the, ah, _threat_ within the castle, it's only natural that Dippet, and indeed any concerned parents, would want an auror at Hogwarts."

"But why _him?_ " Marius stressed. "Any other auror would do, why _him_?" Frustrated, he ran a hand through his dark, curly hair, eyes still viciously narrowed.

"Because he's one of the best," Lycoris pointed out, keeping his voice down to avoid unwanted attention. "Besides, most aurors would be better suited to teaching Defence while Cooper has a Mastery in Charms – it was in the paper last week," he added at Alphard's inclined eyebrow. "I'm not a stalker, thank you-"

"And he's just sitting there like he's so smug," Marius continued, hissing furiously under his breath. "Stupid bas-"

He was silenced at a glare from Tom, leaving Harry to contemplate in the near silent hall. This Cooper reminded him of Moody – albeit a younger and more intact version – and the students (Marius being the clear exception) were regarding him with awe, which explained the atmosphere.

"Marius."

Harry nearly jumped at the sudden voice behind him, instead managing to mask it by swivelling to face Aber Rosier, and an incredibly angry Aber Rosier at that. Tom, not even looking up from his food, shrugged, allowing Marius to hastily clamber to his feet, grabbing his bag and marching off with his cousin, the two immediately conversing in seething tones.

Blinking, and just a little confused, Harry turned back to the group. "Anyone want to tell me what the hell that was?" He asked, figuring that if no one answered,at least there was a possibility Yaxley would be able to tell him later, being friends with Aber and all.

Lycoris and Abraxas exchanged a glance, while Alphard picked at his food, avoiding eye contact. Tom, however, looked up. "Two years ago," he started, his voice even quieter than Lycoris's had been. "Donovan Rosier, Marius' cousin, ran into a lot of trouble with the Ministry, leading to a sentence in Azkaban. I don't believe I'm in a position to inform you of what happened," - Harry covered a derisive snort. Since when did Tom care about keeping secrets? - "you'd have to ask Marius, however I can inform you that it was Aaron Cooper, our lovely new professor, who made the arrest."

Harry swiftly turned around to glance at Professor Cooper in the still unnaturally quiet hall. Of course, he was much to far away, and his eyesight far too poor, to see that, although the auror held a conversation with Merryweather, his gaze wasn't on her. Instead it had followed Aber and Marius from the hall and was now resting upon the double doors through which they had exited.

* * *

 **A/N: Updateeee! (duh). I'm hoping y'all enjoyed it - especially as we should start to see Harry's Slytherin side emerging (believe me, it's about time too).**

 **Just to inform any of you who perhaps somewhat like my writing, I have a new story coming out, the first chapter of which is being published on 18th November (a.k.a next Wednesday). I'm super super excited about it though I can promise that it won't have a detrimental effect upon the update times for 1942 xD**

 **As per, thanks to you freaking awesome reviewers for, y'know, reviewing. Keep it up!**


End file.
